The Tribune, the Princess, and the Champion
by MolonLabe 300
Summary: P & F are in the Roman Legions, where they will experience one of the defining moments of Roman History, under one of the greatest generals ever. Along the way, Phineas/Phinnius meet a certain beautiful, young princess, and sparks fly, even as the impending Civil War causes sparks of its own. To Guy-At-KFC, your reply is waiting at the bottom.
1. Delenda Est

**I felt the call of literature and history today, and decided to pen this story. Please R & R.**

Chapter One: Delenda Est

Isabella POV

"Isabella, get inside!"

My father, sword in hand, was screaming at me, even as his warbands gathered around him in the square. I hurriedly grabbed my bundle of grain and ran into the hold of my father, the chief.

Our Celtiberian village was famed for its strength in war. All our rivals feared to hear our battle cry on the field, and had given us a wide berth, with vast tracts of land to appease our tribe.

My mother had died birthing me. I was my father's only child ever since, and without a son to his name, he had spent the last few years since my flowering looking for a worthy warrior to marry me to.

He was still looking hard.

It's not that I hated my father. I loved him, and he loved me. But I wanted to be able to pick a warrior that _I _felt was worthy, not one that drank and brawled his way through the town each night.

I spent most of my days running in the fields, sometimes riding my mare. I had known how to swim since I was a stripling, and my uncles had shown me the basics of a _falcata_, in case some fool from another tribe chose to carry me off. Not many drinkers or brawlers would choose a wife like that, no matter how comely.

The people of the village would always say that I was the most comely maid they had ever looked upon. My uncles and aunts, who looked after me when my father was holding council, or hunting, said that I would one day have a fine husband, who would look after me, take care of me, and love me for who I was, not just for my face or body.

And there I was, not two moons past my eighteenth birth-day, and that might never come to pass. _I'm too young to die_, I thought.

I ran into the hold, but in the chaos, no one would be able to see me slip out again and see the battle.

I snuck out of the back door, and climbed up the mound of tall rocks at the rear of the village.

I clambered up the stones, and below me, I could see the warriors assemble in the square. There were easily twenty thousand of them, some of them mounted, many on foot. Most of them had a _falcata_ and a spear in his hand, as well as a shield. A few, mostly youths, were checking the pouches of slingstones hanging on their belts.

These were the warriors of our tribe, as well as all the men that our allies could spare. Our village could never have held that many, so more than half had camped outside, waiting for the call to assemble.

_That moment had come too soon_, I thought as I continued to climb up the hill.

My father's chosen bodyguard, and that of the other chieftains in this league, consisted of the hardiest, strongest warriors they had in their villages, and as one, they lead their men out of the gate, leaving behind 6000 men to man the wooden palisade, and formed up outside.

My heart felt a burst of pride at the strength of their combined armies.

_We might yet win the day_.

But then, as I reached the top of the mound of rocks, I could just see the banners coming from the far distance, and a great standard in the middle. And I fell back into doubt.

I thought back to the day, in council, when my father had told the other chieftains the name of this threat.

My father had said, "It comes. Their crimson banners are unfurled. Their trumpets are loud, their horns powerful. They are relentless. They were the scourge of Carthage, the conquerors of the Hellenes, rulers of lands too distant to know. They have ravaged the lands of tribes before, tribes greater than us, only to retreat back to their lairs before returning to smite us. The day when this threat is close, when its fangs come towards our throats, that day is near. Who are they?"

My heart had caught in my throat as I heard that single word. So strange, so foreign it seemed, but with it came a sense of menace, as well as a sense of brutal, terrifying majesty.

And then, seeing that threat near, I whispered that fearsome name again.

"_Rome_."

**Please Review. If there are any terms from archaic foreign languages you would like me to define, just PM me. Any review is encouraged, but constructive criticism is preferred, if you have any. This is not a faultless retelling of history, but I have made this try to fit to the time period I wish to fit this within, and I should be able to avoid any continuity errors with history or myself.**

**Remember, almost all characters are either derived from characters owned by Disney, or are from history. **


	2. Tribune

**Seriously, reviews are very helpful. If you have any ideas or constructive criticism, PMing or Reviewing them is a definite way of getting your views across, as long as you're serious about it.**

Chapter 2: Tribune

1100 hrs, Twelfth of January, 55 BC

Phinnius POV

"Are you ready, men?"

"Yes, _primipilus_!"

"I don't hear you!"

"YES, _PRIMIPILUS_!"

As the lines began to form up, I loosened my _gladius _from its sheath, and gripped my _pilum_ tightly, ready for combat.

By sheer coincidence, my cohort of _fabri_ had been placed right next to the Praetorians', and I could see my brother from where I was.

_Not that I wouldn't be able to, anyway_, I thought wryly.

The _primus prior_ of my cohort cleared his throat. "Tribune, the legionaries are ready. While we wait for the praetor to begin his speech, you may wish to address your century."

I nodded. "Thank you, centurion, but no thank you. I'd like to actually get my sword into another man before I feel I have the right to address the men on equal terms."

"With all due respect, Tribune, but you'll get that right sooner than you like."

"Thank you, centurion. You may take your place in the line."

As he went to do so, I repeated the mantra that had been drilled into me countless times.

_I am Phinnius Julius Flinnius Fletchius, son of Rome, of the gens Julia. I am a tribune of the Legio XIII. I will not run._

I looked over to the _optio_ of the century to our left, who surveyed all the men in front of him, waiting for one to make a mistake. _Bufordus_ _Stommius Brontes. _He had been of the household as a youth, and had been recruited at the same time as my brother. To hear tell, he was a ferocious fighter with a brutal strength to match, and he could put 3 men on the ground in a pushing match with _scutum_.

As per his job as _optio_, he was in charge of discipline, training, and was expected to be a more than capable combatant. In addition, should his immediate superior lose his courage and desert or rout, he would have the authority to strike him down and take on the mantle of leadership. _And if I lose _my_ courage, my own centurions would do the same to me, _I thought.

I turned my eyes to the left, and sighted the tribune and enforcer of the First Cohort. Ferbius Julius Fletchius, my adoptive brother and best friend, towered over even the other Praetorian Enforcers. The household guards which had been assigned to train us from the tender age of six were a veteran Spartiate and a former Oathsworn of the Arverni, and they had trained him as hard as they possibly could.

He still excelled despite the difficulty, and overcame each impossible challenge they gave him. He was the most naturally talented swordsman they, and the training centurions of the Barracks, had ever seen.

Our family, a branch of the _gens_ Julia, had been gifted a mighty sword by our relatives, the Julius Caesares, whose head of the house happened to be this army's commissioner.

The sword had been made in the fashion of the great two-handed broadswords that the Gallic champions used in combat, but had been crafted by master smiths and made out of the fabled steel of far Indus, where Alexander the Great had stopped his conquest.

While the handle had been created for a two-handed grip, Ferbius could wield it with astounding skill and precision with a single hand. Of course, in a legion, one must carry a _gladius_, so he had two at his waist, as well as two _pugios_ and a Thracian _sica_. In addition, the huge sword, which had been named Draco, was strapped across his back. The men of the legion called him the Swordsmaster, and had called him so since the day two years ago when he had stepped into the barracks for sword training, and defeated ten men in a sparring match when they had insulted our younger sister.

On a cliff to the left, a solitary figure signaled us with two torches.

Irvinius Junius Malchus, a young legionary and my friend since we had met at a winehouse in the Tiber District, had been appointed as signalman. He had the sharpest eyes in the legion, and our praetor had taken notice. He had a _gladius_ and _scutum_ as well, but his sword was in its sheath, not needed at the moment.

Many men would have traded a few gold coins to know his secret for farsight. As a childhood friend, I was well aware that he had plenty of practice for his ability, which mostly consisted of voyeurism, or 'appreciation of the gifts of the gods'.

_Whatever floats your boat_, I thought.

His role was to signal the movements of the enemy to the general and officers, and he was good at that job. Very good.

The _signifer_ of one of my centuries happened to be a man of the far Indus. He had skin the color of loam, and he happened to be shorter than most of the others. Baljitius Indiannus Tjindus, that was his name. He had a head for numbers, and as such was the paymaster for his century, as per his role of _signifer_.

If the story he had told me when we were training on the Field of Mars was correct, his ancestor had been a merchant prince of India, and had taught the Romans how to deal with Epirot elephants in the days of King Pyrrhus. That ancestor eventually settled in Rome and became a Roman citizen.

As a soldier, he wasn't much of a fighter, but he did have an ability to absorb all kinds of punishment, making him a good choice for _signifer_, a role that involved taking punishment and holding the banner instead of wielding a sword.

"Men!" The praetor in charge of this legion was an experienced officer by the name of Labienus. He was one of the most trusted men of my relative and benefactor, Gaius Julius Caesar, who had commissioned the legion's next movements. He rose high on his horse, riding in front of the army.

"Over there are the Celtiberians! They defy us, and we must show them the might of Rome!"

The entire legion erupted in cheers.

"They outnumber us two to one! All the better, as they get in each other's way for the fight!

"When they charge, lock your shields! Extend your _pila_ and impale them! Throw your weight against them! Hack them to bloody bits!"

The men were roaring, beating swords and spears against shields.

"And keep formation! Unless you want to be hacked to pieces yourself. Remember your training! And remember this, too: our Roman gods, Jupiter and Mars Ultor watch above us all! Do not disappoint them!"

With that, he spurred his horse and gathered most of the cavalry to him, riding them off as part of a stratagem of his.

"Forward, march!" The _primipilus_ roared. The _primus priori_ repeated the order, and then all the centurions in the legion did. And as one, the entire legion began to move forward.

Ahead of us, I could see the enemy rushing towards us. They were organized into rough blocks, and each man carried a falcata, or a spear, as well as a shield.

I gritted my teeth. _Jupiter gives us strength._

They were closing with us. The enemy cavalry had surged ahead of their infantry, and were riding towards us in solid blocks.

"HALT!" The command rang out, and every man turned into a statue.

I could hear the hoofbeats on the ground, the furious warcries of the Celtiberians.

A hundred yards left.

Fifty.

Forty.

Twenty.

"LOCK SHIELDS! _PILA_ OUT!"

**Feel free to ask me about any Latin terms or historical context. If 5 different people ask me, I'll put a short glossary at the end of each chapter with new terms.**

**Also, is there any one who is willing to answer these three questions? The winner gets a prize!**

**1) What is the full name of the Roman General who conquered Carthage?**

**2) When was Rome sacked by the Visigoths?**

**3) How did the Romans defeat war elephants?**


	3. Lock Shields

**Special note to Ayahsad 167, and DisneychannelWriter207, whose reviews are much appreciated.**

**As always, most characters here are derivatives off those on Disney Channel's Phineas and Ferb, or from actual history, and do not belong me.**

Chapter 3: Lock Shields

1115 hrs, Twelfth of January, 55 BC

Phinnius POV

The front row of the legion planted their shields, angled them completely upright, and planted their _pila_ on the ground, falling into a crouch as they did so.

The second row angled their shields to cover the head of the legionnaire in front of them while protecting themselves, and stuck out their _pila_ horizontally.

Behind them, the other rows readied their _pila_ for throwing. ,

As I crouched, my _pilum_ planted, I felt the ground shake as the enemy horsemen galloped full tilt at us.

Right before they hit the lines, many of the horses abruptly shied away from the wall of spears and shields, and caused mass confusion in the enemy formation.

So, instead of a solid block of horseflesh, the enemy formation came as a scattered rabble. And then, collision.

As the horsemen hammered into the shield wall, the third and fourth rows planted their feet and pushed into our backs, reinforcing the formation.

A trio of Celtiberian cavalrymen jumped from their horses at the last second and vaulted over the formation, landing hard. Before they could get up, a large man ran up to them and cut them down. He was a Praetorian, one of the best men in the legion and one of those who guarded the Praetor's tent. He was also an enforcer, one of those who wiped out any enemy who made it past the first row.

And then a horseman charged directly at me. My _pilum_ bent and almost broke as his horse impaled itself, while the man was taken in the stomach by that of the man standing behind me.

And then, as suddenly as they came, the enemy cavalry fled, straight into the faces of their charging infantry. As horses and men collided, the charge slowed down, and for a few moments the entire enemy front was a jumbled tangle of men.

"Release _pila_!"

At the command from the centurions, the third and fourth rows, and all rows behind, moved their arms backward, and then heaved, launching almost three thousand javelins into the enemy.

The effect was devastating, cutting through the enemy front, and causing even more chaos.

The _pilum_ was originally designed to bend upon impact, so as to act like the barb on a fishing hook. However, it took too much time to mass-produce such once we stretched beyond our borders and took Greece and Africa. So, many _pilum_ were designed to have the spearhead break off inside its target, or to splinter upon impact.

Said _pila_ were now crashing into the enemy, killing thousands.

Now, though, the Celtiberians were rushing toward us, forced onward by the rush of their comrades behind.

Now, however, we had organized into standard formation again, and I was back on my feet, readying myself.

"Lock shields!"

And that's the last thing I heard. All noise faded away from the world, as me and my neighbors closed together. I felt a barbarian warrior crash against my shield, and ran him through after he tried to hack down my shield with disastrous results.

Once, a trainer had told me these words of wisdom: "Don't hack. Thrust. A slash can be stopped by armor, weapon, and bone. But a good thrust can go through mail, is harder to stop with just a sword, and is less likely to catch on bone."

Another Celtiberian charged up at me, swinging his _falcata_. His stroke bounced off my shield, and, as I had been taught, I shoved my blade into his chest, before pulling it out. The Roman _gladius_ I held in my hand was far better for thrusting than slashing, contrasting the _falcata_, which excelled at slashing.

More warriors came, screaming battlecries, and I once again blocked a stroke and stabbed another warrior.

And then I did it again. And again. And again.

Some warriors were good, others were not. There were some who were particularly adept, able to dodge my _gladius_ strikes here and there, or trading blows well with me.

I blocked every one of their strokes and put my blade into all of their bodies, one by one.

At one point, the entire cohort seemed to be losing cohesion, and then I was fighting man to man. I may have not been my brother, but I was still an adept fighter, and cut three men down in such a manner.

A javelin brought down a man to my left, and a slingstone ricocheted off my _scutum_. The men began to lift their shields, to fend off javelins and slingstones coming piecemeal at us. And eventually, we formed back into a solid formation, and continued hacking through them.

And then, after what seemed like an eternity, we started moving forward.

Many of the enemy had routed, and were confusing the charge at our men. Now, it was time to take the offense to them, and that we did.

We formed into wedge formations, getting into what would have looked like a sawblade from above. And then we began to push forward, like a wall of spears. But instead of spears of wood and iron, these were spears of men, of legionaries, soldiers in formation.

At the front, I could see my brother. He was the point of the lead wedge. Draco was out, forming a perfect storm of death around him. And then, disaster struck.

A huge force of enemy cavalry came at us on the left flank, where the auxiliaries were. They had managed to form a line to cover the left, but without the time to form into a true anti-cavalry formation, cavalrymen were bursting through the line at various points. Where there were determined spears, enemy horsemen, in the style of the Cantabri to the north, galloped towards the lines and sent forth showers of javelins to weaken them.

As the man behind me surged to fill the line, allowing me to command, I looked at Irvinius with his torches. He was trying to warn the other tribunes and officers, but most were too preoccupied with fighting the infantry to notice. As I looked at the left flank, I saw the impending danger of the auxiliaries breaking, of cavalry hitting us from the rear, encircling us and routing the legion.

_'Damn them!'_ I thought. '_Jupiter, give us hope.'_

And then Labienus was there.

He had been encircling the enemy, and upon sighting their chiefs on their mounts, lead all our Praetorian and Legionary cavalry into a furious charge to their rear.

The effect of that charge to the rear was evident. The fear of the enemy cavalry was tangible, and they sustained staggering losses before they were able to fully turn and respond.

And then, they broke.

The Celtiberians, infantry and horseman, chief and herdsman, all turned away from us and ran towards their _oppidum_. Behind them, the cavalry, with Labienus at the head, began cutting down as many routing troops as possible. Only the enemy cavalry could get away from them, their infantry being cut down behind them.

And then I could hear again. The men were cheering, roaring, shouting jubilantly that we had managed to cut down so many warriors while sustaining such few losses. At least ten thousand enemy warriors were dead on the field, whilst a mere hundred of ours had been killed or wounded.

I cheered with them, waving my bloody blade in the air. But yet, I felt a strange sense of emptiness. Clouds entered my mind. I had killed at least ten, maybe twenty enemies today, but what did that achieve? Was it right to kill them for defending their home, something that I would do myself?

My mind seemed to say_, 'They were enemies to Rome. Your enemies. You had to defeat them.'_

And yet, I couldn't rest easy.

As the men prepared their afternoon meal, Labienus approached me.

"You have a fine sword, Flinnius. Your _primus prior_ saw you cut down almost a score of enemies."

"Yes, general."

"We'll set up camp here." He gestured to the flatland in front of the enemy _oppidum_, adjacent to the hills and the valley between them, in which we had fought the battle.

"The other cohorts will set up the camp. Your cohort will be needed elsewhere."

"For the encirclements?"

"No. The only thing we need to fear is a relieving army, and I have lookouts and scouts all around, should that happen. Let them escape, if they wish. We'll hunt them down if they try to run."

I was confused. "Then what is required of my cohort, sir?"

"Catapults. We take the settlement tomorrow, after sundown."

And that's when I realised. As that centurion had said, the moment had come - and I didn't like it.

**Please review, folks, any thoughts and constructive criticism is **

**Alright, the prize for the closest answers is having a major OC having a name of your choice.**

**Answers to previous questions:**

**1)Publius Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus Africanus, or in English: Publius, son of Aemilianus, adopted grandson of Scipio, who is of the **_**gens**_** Cornelia, and Soldier of Africa.**

**2) 410 AD**

**3) A number of ways: catapults, chariots with scythes on the wheels, flaming pigs, long spears, or letting the elephants through the lines so they could slaughter them. **

**Today's questions:**

**1) What _gens_ was Brutus, assassin of Julius Caesar, from?**

**2) An average Spartan soldier and an average Roman soldier fight. Who is more likely to win in a one-on-one fight?**

**3) Would it be better to fight a World War Z zombie with a **_**pilum**_**, a **_**gladius**_**, or a **_**falcata**_**?**


	4. First Meeting

**Thanks to all those who show their support by reading, reviewing, and following.****  
**

**As always, please review. **

**And I don't own the show, and most characters here are derived off those on the show, or are from history.**

Chapter Four: First Meeting

1400 hrs, Thirteenth of January, 55 BC

Third Person POV

"What will we do?!" A frenzied woman screamed.

"Keep it down! Let them rest!" Isabella pleaded. She gestured towards the hundreds of wounded warriors in the various huts, and the children, who looked on with wide eyes.

She had seen the battle unfold from the top of the hill, saw as the Romans had held their ranks and let the tribesmen dash themselves to pieces on their formation, and then powering straight through them.

When her father's heavy cavalry, all focused into a single group, came in and flanked them, the accursed Roman cavalry had come behind them and struck hundreds down within a matter of seconds.

Over half of the force that had assembled in the square the morning before was dead before midday, including most of the allied chiefs and two of her uncles. Most of the rest had been captured. Her father had barely managed to escape with a thousand men, the Romans hard on their heels. Now, only that thousand, and the six thousand youths and old men in the garrison, remained to guard the wooden walls of the _oppidum_.

"Damn those Romans!" Isabella yelled out in frustration. They had utterly destroyed her father's warriors, and made it look easy. Earlier that morning, a few hundred men disobeyed orders and rode out, trying to catch the Romans unawares. The following fight had not been a battle – it had been a pebble thrown against a mountain, leading to carnage as a dozen men scrambled for their lives back into the village, Romans laughing behind them.

Having had enough of pity and fear, she went outside to clear her head.

As she walked out of the hall, she was suddenly conscious about how filthy she was.

* * *

"Centurion, you and your men keep on your work on these."

"Yes, Tribune. If I may ask, where are you going?"

"I'm going to think. If you should have any major issues, the other tribunes should know how to deal with it. If you need me, sound the _bucina_ three times, and then the trumpet thrice, and then the _bucina_ again, just once, and I will come."

"Aye, sir. These should be ready by the third hour. The attack will commence on the hour of the owl, as per the orders of General Labienus."

"Good. Keep on working."

Phinnius headed back to his tent, inside the fortified camp that the other cohorts had constructed. There, he stripped off his _lorica segmentata_, put on a simple mail shirt over his tunic and trousers, and donned his goatskin cloak.

He got his horse from the horse lines, climbed onto his back, and trotted away from the camp. As he distanced himself from the fort, he spurred his horse into a canter.

He thought about the orders his cohort had received the day before.

_Breach the walls so quickly?_ That made no strategic sense. There should have been a delegation sent, to allow the enemy to surrender the settlement to Rome. And to use catapults…

Every _fabri_ understood the catapult well. Ever since Dionysus of Syracuse had commissioned the gastrophetes, there had been new machines emerging, machines of death. They used not the skill or strength of the wielder, but the innate mechanics of the machine, to unleash destruction upon the enemy. Every engineer understood that catapults and ballistae were a convenient way to breach a wall from a distance, or to smash in a gate. They also had to realize that at range, there was never complete certainty as to where the flaming munitions would land.

The catapult was usually built for breaching stone walls, or for crushing a settlement from the inside out. To use such machines now was almost as if speed were more important than occupation, or even subjugation of the area. This plan would cause bloodshed, and what objective would that fulfill in and of itself? These people had not attacked Rome, and posed no danger to it.

The only idea that made any strategic sense was one that he dreaded. _Those people in that city; to their families, they're flesh and blood. But to the Legion, they're just practice._

* * *

The Romans hadn't even bothered to encircle the village. Whilst Isabella's tribe may not have been as well-versed as the sons of Mars in the art of war, they at least knew the principle of surrounding a settlement before invading it.

There was a small grove of trees to the north of the settlement, which the _oppidum_ wall cut through. At the edge of the wall, a few stout branches extended just far enough for her to reach from the edge.

Isabella was a good climber, and had been since she was six summers old. She snuck past her father's warriors, shimmied down the tree on the other side, and found her horse in the pens outside. _They didn't even kill the horses_, she thought, though she didn't mind that they hadn't.

She climbed on the back of her filly, Pinkicis, fed her a carrot, and then trotted off towards a place she knew and loved well.

It was a small oasis, a few miles from the village, surrounded by a thick grove of trees, with a pool of water in the middle. The water came from under the earth, and made a cooling place to bathe in.

As she reached the oasis, she dismounted, tied her mare to a tree, and then entered the grove. She stripped, and bathed, letting the cool water soak up all the exhaustion and worry that she had held for the past few days.

_Maybe it's not so bad after all_, she thought as she dried off. _Maybe we still have hope._

And then, as she was going to retrieve her clothes, she heard footsteps.

And for the second time in as many days, she felt her spirits plummet.

* * *

Phinnius had seen the oasis from a distant hill, as well as the glimmer of water, and noticing his lips were parched, rode his horse to the edge of the green land. There were three horses tied there, a filly with a beautiful coat, and two small, black stallions with an unkempt manes.

"Well, that's great." Phinnius tied his horse to a fourth tree, and gave him an apple. His horse, a big black breed from west Iberia, had a strange mane that was the color of teal. He had named him Perrixius, after his Spartiate sword instructor, who wore a Corinthian helmet that had a teal plume, and was one of the best fighters Phinnius had ever seen.

As he retrieved his waterskin, he stretched, yawned, and had started to stroll inside when he heard a scream.

Without a rational thought, he instinctively sprinted towards the noise.

As he burst into the small clearing surrounding the pool, he saw two big men, with bushy beards and dozens of scars, chase a beautiful young girl. The first man caught up to the woman and tackled her brutally to the ground. He got back up with a leer on his face, and the girl screamed again as both closed in.

Isabella was resigning herself to her fate when a voice rang out.

"_Diakopis, Thrakikos pelagos_."

The two men, who had the definite look of Thracian mercenary _bastarnae_, stopped and looked at Phinnius. "You speak our tongue, Roman?"

He replied in Greek. "And many others as well."

He gestured to the girl. "Leave her be. She doesn't deserve death."

A cruel grin crossed the face of the first, who had an missing eye. "We aren't planning death for her."

Phinnius gritted his teeth. "This is not a battle, where we seize the spoils of war. She's innocent, and far too young."

"Same as you, Roman. Same as you."

And then the two of them lunged at him.

_Damn_.

* * *

The Thracian mercenaries drew out _rhomphaioi_, enormous sickle-swords made for bloody melees.

Phinnius dodged to the side as a _rhomphaia_ split the air where he had been a split second before. His _gladius_ was out before he knew it.

The Thracians spread out, coming in from different directions. Their _rhomphaioi_ were brutal weapons, capable of driving right through a legionary's helmet and into his skull with a single blow. The sheer brute force of those weapons were rivaled only by that of the massive axes of the Germanic chieftains and the huge swords of the Gallic champions, and said force was surpassed only by legendary weapons such as Ferbius' Draco.

And that was their greatest strength, as well as their greatest weakness.

He darted in, leaving a slight cut on one Thracians' soldier, and then darted out, gashing the other's foot. Darting, spinning, and jabbing, he feinted and dealt out light stings with his sword. He had no other choice; without a shield, he could not withstand even a single hit, if one should connect.

As Isabella's breathing grew less frantic, she saw the scene unfolding right next to her prostrate body.

'_Who is… that?_' She wondered. She was absorbed by the fighter with the sword, who moved so fast he was almost a blur.

The Thracians were good. They were big, fast, and strong, and they were definitely skilled with their weapons.

But they weren't good enough.

Phinnius had been trained since he was younger than ten to be a warrior for Rome, and had sparred countless times with his brother, who could have run circles around these two, broken them over his knee, or killed them with his back turned. And his trainer had been a Spartiate, and had lived up to that name.

He knew that standing his ground with only a short sword and no shield against bigger men with two-handed weapons was folly. The only solution was to bleed them dry, tire them out with the constant effort of their swings, and then finish it at the crucial moment. Their folly was that they wore no armor save for hide, and had no shields, just like him. All it would take was one new misstep for either side to gain the advantage.

And then it came.

Isabella reached up off the ground and grabbed one of the Thracian's _sica_ from his belt, before stabbing him in the thigh. He roared in pain, and kicked her hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her and making it difficult for her to breathe.

His next moment was cut short by a brutal stab in the neck from Phinnius' gladius.

Phinnius withdrew his sword, seized the dying man by his collar and hurled him at his comrade. His compatriot, unable to stop his butcher's cut, smashed in the dying Thracian's head with his _rhomphaia_.

The last Thracian came in with a deathblow from above, intent on crushing this impudent Roman. Before he knew it, though, a new red gash came in on his upper left thigh, and he fell, his lifeblood draining out of him. And then he felt a cold bite on the small of his back, and it was over.

Phinnius wiped the sweat of his brow, and rushed over to the girl's side. For the first time, it occurred to him she was completely unclothed, and his face turned a flash of red. He took his goatskin cloak and covered her body, and helped her up into a sitting position.

After what seemed like an eternity, Isabella's gut finally stopped burning, if for just a bit. She looked up, and into stark blue eyes that burned with concern.

"Who are you?"

Phinnius saw her black hair, startling cerulean eyes, and pale skin and guessed her to be Celtiberian. _And possibly from the enemy oppidum…_

"I'm a child of the god of war. My name is Phinnius. I come from far away. Who are you?" He answered in Celtiberian.

Isabella breathed in, and sighed. "I'm Isabella, of the Garciates. My _oppidum_ is a few miles to the south."

Isabella tried to get up, but fiery daggers stabbed into her gut as she did so.

"Whoa, whoa, easy. Easy." Phinnius laid an arm on her shoulder and guided her back to a rock.

"How do you know my tongue?" Isabella asked, a wary look crossing her face.

"I know many tongues." Phineas replied. He didn't know what exactly to make of this girl. She was beautiful – stunning, in fact – and she clearly had a bit of pluck in her. And she was _young_ – about Phinnius' own age, actually. But if she learned that he was a legionary, she would panic and run, and that didn't need to happen. Better to remain anonymous, and play dumb.

"You look troubled. What's wrong?"

Isabella choked on her words. She didn't want to admit it, but now it was staring her in the face. Besides, she was captivated by this warrior with fiery hair and eyes the colour of the sky.

"My people are besieged… and there's no hope." She felt the anxiety pour out of her, and be replaced by a sense of inescapable doom.

Before she knew it, out came the story: her life, who she was, her rank, the catastrophic defeat, and the impending conquering by the Romans.

After she had finished, Phinnius took her hand in his, and looked into her eyes. _Gorgeous eyes_, he thought, _but far too sad_.

"Well, maybe they'll leave. You said they haven't begun a siege yet."

Yet she was already shaking her head. "They'll come in with torches, burn down the gates, and slaughter everyone. Or… or…"

Phinnius felt the thrill of the fight leaving him, and be replaced by that overwhelming sense of guilt. _It won't be torches. It'll be Acheron._ And when the catapults, which _he_ had supervised and created, breached the settlement, this woman, and her people, would be massacred, or worse. _Did I just save her from that fate only for me to deliver it to her again?_

"I'll come for you." Before he could stop himself, the words were slipping out of his mouth.

"If they breach the walls, I'll come for you, and make sure you're safe."

_When we breach those walls, I'm definitely going in, at least._

She looked up at him, doubt still in her eyes. "You'd do that? For me?"

"Yes, yes I would."

And for the first time, Isabella smiled. _Was this it? My second chance?_

Phinnius was taken aback by that smile_. If the gods sent Venus herself down, the goddess could barely do better._

"Is your stomach alright?"

Isabella remembered the agony she had felt in her belly, and noticed that it was gone.

"Yes. Thank you." She walked over to the bush where she had hidden her clothes, gave him back his goatskin cloak, and began to don her clothing. Suddenly, she turned about and saw Phinnius standing there. With his head turned away.

_He's not even trying to look_, she realized. And she felt all the more safer for it.

"What's your name?" She asked.

"Phinnius." He mumbled.

As they walked to their horses, she mounted her filly. "Goodbye, Phinnius!" she called as she rode away.

And as high as her heart was rising, Phinnius' heart was sinking, even as he climbed onto Perrixius' back and spurred the stallion.

_Gods. What am I going to do?_

**Thank you for those who have just read this. Please, if you have any thoughts, review. This week, I have no questions for you guys.**

**The answers to last week's questions are: **

**1) He was of **_**gens**_** Junia.**

**2) The average soldier who lived in Sparta would have lost to a legionary, primarily due to the fact that there were tons more helots or periokoi. Those guys did not go through the training montage in **_**300**_**, and were nowhere near as awesome. However, a Spartiate, or Spartan Peer, who actually did go through the training montage in **_**300**_**, would probably have defeated a legionary promptly.**

**3) The **_**falcata**_**. The **_**pilum**_** was a weapon made for horrendous damage to the torso, not for particular accuracy. The **_**gladius**_** was made for stabbing wounds to the body. Max Brook's zombies can only be fully terminated by destroying the brain or decapitation, so the **_**falcata's**_** chopping/smashing damage would be the most effective. **

**And to adam243, the most powerful faction in the world at the time other than Rome would definitely be Han China. They were easily the two dominant world powers of the time, and each could have thrashed any people group they came upon in their prime, except for the Worf Effect and bad prioritising. Even those they never met, such as the Olmecs, would have been ****totalled.**

**If you mean a faction in the Roman World, there are several candidates:**

**a) the Carthaginians were a great rival in the days of the Punic Wars, but it suffered from backstabbing politicians. **

**b) Arminius' Germanic coalition was also a terrifying force, though they didn't have massive tracts of land. **

**c) The Parthians were stinking rich, and able to defend their large territories with contemptuous ease, but those territories were relatively sparsely populated, and a single large city would have massive influence over an area. If Rome had fully realized the riches they could have gotten if they controlled the land trade routes connecting Rome and China, they might have been able to take the place.**

**d) The Seleucids were an effective empire, but their power had been waning. If you wished to combine all the Hellenistic empires into one, their combined strength in 200 BC could probably have been close to Rome's in the Punic Wars.**

**If you have any more questions, you can post them in PM form, or in a review.**

**And yes, Perrixius, Phinnius' sword instructor that he's mentioned several times, is derived off Perry, and will make several appearances shortly.**


	5. Vae Victis

**Disclaimer: Most characters are derived off those on the show, or are from history. I do not own said show.**

**Thank you to all those who have favorited, reviewed, or followed. **

Chapter 5: Vae Victis

1530 hrs, Thirteenth of January, 55 BC

Third Person POV

Once. Twice. Thrice. Four times. And then five, six, seven, and an eighth.

"Mars Ultor, how do you do it?" Bufordus complained.

A Praetorian rubbed his chest. "I think, _optio_, that by now you would have given up trying to figure out."

Ferbius said nothing. Not that he didn't know; he simply always used his sword to do the talking, unless truly necessary. He knew how he did it.

When he had first picked up a wooden sword at five, he had seemed attuned to it, perfectly in sync with its movements. As he had grown up, every warrior who had seen him fight had said that he was the most naturally talented swordsman they had ever seen, even Spartiates and Oathsworn. Most other Roman youth of the patricians would have soaked in the praise, and eased through the life of a young, rich man. Not Ferbius.

He had asked his teachers, the Spartiate Perrixius and the former Oathsworn, Tertiones, to train him harder than they had been themselves, to make him the best he could possibly be. And they had, and Ferbius reveled in it. By the time he was seventeen, he could beat either of them with a sword, especially if that sword was Draco. He had been able to lift more than twice his weight with his chest and arm muscles, and run all day with a backpack filled with rocks.

And twice his weight was a prodigious amount. Ferbius, now a man, was closer to eight feet than seven tall, and came in at four-and-a-half hundred pounds, every bit of it muscle and bone, without a smidgeon of useless fat or flesh. It was a body honed by practice and a daily diet three heads of lettuce, a dozen eggs, and bowl upon bowl of spinach, as well as whole amphoras of milk and water.

So it had been no wonder that he had downed four of his fellow Praetorians, and the immense Bufordus, who was the only man in the legion whose size came anything close to Ferbius'. Ferbius had taken less than 3 seconds to do so, and would have killed every one of them if they had not used the wooden practice swords, three of which had been shattered by Ferbius' vicious hammering before the final thrust.

He left his fellow soldiers to lick their wounds and pride, and walked towards his tent. He hadn't even broken a sweat, and simply lay on his bedroll, pulled out a small scroll, and began to read.

As he began to close his eyes for a nap, he heard footsteps coming.

"Ferbius? Are you there?"

Ferbius poked his head out and looked at his brother.

"Oh, good. I wanted to talk to you about something."

* * *

Ferbius listened intently as Phinnius elaborated. As he listened, he whittled a piece of wood into a sculpture, the image in his mind gradually emerging from the wood.

"And then I saw two men chasing this _girl_." The way Phinnius had said that caused the muscles around Ferbius' mouth to twitch, just for a moment, before returning to normal.

"Men?" Ferbius asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Thracian mercenaries. They could speak Achaean Greek, though."

Ferb nodded. "Then?"

"You know what they would have done. So I…" Phinnius rubbed the back of his head.

"I know what they would do and what you would do. And you forgot to clean your sword."

As Phinnius pulled out his _gladius_, realized that was true, and started cleaning it, Ferbius reflected on what he had just heard.

Mercenaries came in all shapes and sizes, and their ethics were of the same consistency.

Some were like the Macedonian pikemen, or the mercenary Spartiates, whose sense of honor, duty, and order would keep them in line. Some were like Egyptian _khopesh_ warriors, whose reverence of their god-king came above base thoughts. And some, like the Thracians, tended to the barbarian way of war, and all horrors that might accompany it.

Phinnius finished cleaning and oiling his sword and sheath, and began talking again. "They were easy. Good, but still easy."

"The girl?"

Phinnius' eyes widened for a second, before a dreamy smile came across his face.

"Absolutely _beautiful_."

Ferbius didn't know whether to laugh, to smack himself, or to smack his brother, and so decided to do none of these things.

"While I was fighting the Thracians, I had stumbled slightly. One of them was coming in, and I was able to stop him by a close margin. Before they could turn and attack me again, she got one with a dagger."

Ferbius' eyebrows went up.

"Ironically, it was his own dagger. She didn't know to get the femoral artery, but she still cut him a mean one in the lower thigh, though she got a kick to the belly for her trouble."

"And then you killed them. What about the girl?"

"She was gorgeous. If what I saw with the knife is true, she has courage, and a quick hand. But she was…"

Ferbius gestured for him to continue.

"She was a Celtiberian princess. From the oppidum. She snuck out of the village from the opposite direction to bathe. Then she got ambushed, and you know the rest."

"How did you find this out?"

"Well, after I killed the Thracians, I realized she was still…"

"In her birthday suit. And?"

"She was also in slight shock, so I put my cloak around her, and talked to her, allowed her to clear her mind."

Phinnius sighed.

"I said that I was a son of the war god, and that I would go in and save her when the Romans broke in."

Ferbius looked up, eyes widening.

"So I don't know what to do, Ferbius!"

"You'll have to be one of the first through the breach, then. You'll be on the right."

"Of what?"

"Well, me."

Phinnius sat in silence.

"Ferbius, what are we here for? What is Legio XIII doing here?"

Ferbius decided to tell him the truth. His brother was a soldier, and he would need every bit of knowledge Ferbius could spare him.

"Cousin Gaius needs the Legion for his upcoming campaigns against the Gauls. Half of the men are the best possible troops there are, whilst the other half are also the best, but unblooded, new recruits. So he's sending us here first, to get practice against the natives, before a stop in Rome for a last breather, and then Gaul." Ferbius sighed.

"The Senate barely knows what it's doing these days. There are only two men left who know what war is like: Pompeius, and Caesar. When the Senate had heard that the legion needed practice, they sent us here, instead of against the minor Gallic tribes, or the African rebels, as Caesar would have had us do.

Phinnius looked up at him.

"Our orders are to strike hard, and then return, all as expediently as possible?"

Ferbius nodded. "There'll be no stop for any sort of occupation. Just a quick eradication. We have one day to leave once we breach the walls. And after a battle… men think not of the next month or year, only what matters to them in that day. They will show no mercy."

"And if I don't save her?"

"She'll be killed. And before that, worse."

Both stepbrothers felt a sense of guilt in their hearts.

"This isn't like the stories." Phinnius sighed.

"No. It never is."

* * *

Phinnius had left to attend to the finishing touches on the catapults. Ferbius was still whittling at the piece of wood in the hours before he had to don his armor. He looked at the beautifully carved figure.

If any man saw his face now, they would not have seen the Swordsmaster. They would have seen a man with tears running down his face, mumbling over and over.

"I'm sorry, Vanessia. I'm so sorry."

* * *

Isabella warmed her hands by the fire. She had packed a pouch filled with things that would be essential for survival. She had taken no food, though, as she didn't want to steal from her people.

She fingered the light falcata she kept on her belt, ready for escape.

As she climbed up to the walls of the oppidum for a look, she saw something that alarmed her, and every man on the walls.

The entire legion of Romans had emptied out of the camp, and was deployed out of bowshot or slingshot. And they had brought massive wooden machines with them.

An officer, mounted on a horse, yelled, "Inciapa Bombardarum!"

The machines discharged, firing flaming bolts and rocks into the settlement and against the walls. Three well-aimed rocks laid low the gates, and a flaming bolt caught the last of the uncles by the chest and knocked him clean off the wall.

"NOOOO!" Isabella yelled. She looked on helplessly as fires were started by the brutal bombardment with flaming munitions, as warriors were swept clean off the wall.

And then the bombardment stopped.

For a moment, Isabella felt hope come again. And then she saw the Romans.

They were all jogging towards the settlement, still in perfectly immaculate formation.

Two cohorts, though, were running, leaving the ranks. One of them was lead by a giant who moved like a juggernaut, easily leading the elite troops of the Romans.

The other composed of the men who had handled the catapults, and the men guarding them.

And both were heading straight for the gate.

* * *

Phinnius felt the fear and apprehension leave him as he moved to the settlement, felt confidence and pride come into himself again. _I'll go in first, cut down all enemies in my way, and get to her._

Both cohorts merged flawlessly just before running into the gates. Both knew their respective roles in the next conflict.

And as they ran into the settlement, they saw their next obstacle. Stakes.

Prefect Jeremius' voice rang out like a lion's roar. "Enforcers! Vault over and protect the _fabri_. Praetorians! Protect the eagle!"

The fifty enforcers of the Praetorian First Cohort pushed past the stakes and formed a shield wall, whilst the _fabri_ legionaries hammered down the stakes.

Once the final stake was slammed down, the Primipilus yelled the command. "Form ranks!"

_At times like this, he's like his wife_. Phinnius grinned as he remembered Candacia's attempts to bust his inventions when he was younger.

_They make a good team._

"Advance!"

Both cohorts ran forward, feet pounding the ground beneath. Ahead, thousands of enemy warriors formed up in front of them.

"Wedge formation! Use _pila_!"

The Praetorians formed the cutting center of the wedge, whilst the _fabri_ moved to form the wings and back. Except for one.

"You sure about this, Ferbius?"

Jeremius, to Ferbius' left, spoke up. "If you don't trust your brother, Phinnius, you can't trust anyone."

_Too true_, Phinnius thought. _Too true_.

The rest was a blur, but Phinnius had a vague memory of slashing down warrior after warrior. Jeremius planted his sword into at least a score of enemies, and Ferbius was like Mars Ultor, laying waste to all in front of him.

The enemy had been sliced right open with that brutal wedge attack, designed for a brutal smash against the enemy. As Phinnius felt himself come back, the two cohorts raised their remaining _pila_ and prepared to massacre the warriors backing away from them.

And then a warhorn rang out.

The ranks of the enemy parted, as a huge enemy chief strode out.

_He has the hair, and the eyes_, Phinnius realized, with a sense of dread.

Isabella had followed her father as he had stood tall and told the hornblower what signal to sound, and hid herself behind the crowd of her tribe's warriors. She gasped as her father strode out alone, towards the murderous Romans.

Her father's voice rang out.

"Who here is in command?"

Another huge man strode forth and answered in fluent Celtiberian.

"My cousin, Gaius Julius Caesar, commands this army, and we are both of the _gens_ Julia."

_Technically, not a lie_, Phinnius thought. _Caesar **is** telling this army what to do._

"I challenge you to single combat. Will you accept?"

Ferbius nodded. "What are your terms?"

The chief thought for a moment. "You will leave my people in peace, and they, as well as my allies will not attack your troops. They will pay Rome tribute, and allow Roman troops to pass unhindered through our lands. And," he said, heart breaking, "You will take my daughter, and treat her as you would a royal captive."

Ferbius looked into the man's eyes. _The man's heirless. He has no living brothers or sons to carry on his name, but those who want leadership will kill his daughter, to stop her from siring one who might usurp them. _

_And he needs to lose_, he realized. _If he kills me, the promise I make will be voided, and the Legion will destroy the village anyways. _

His suspicions were confirmed when the chief failed to ask for terms if Ferbius lost.

Isabella wondered that as well. _Why doesn't he offer terms in case he wins?_

Ferbius nodded his head.

"And now to it." The chief nodded, and stripped off his mail shirt. Ferbius tore off his helmet and removed his own armor.

Isabella gasped as the enemy champion rose to his full height, and unsheathed a massive sword that her father would barely have been able to lift.

Her father struck once. The enemy champion raised his sword, and then, in a single clean move, checked her father's sword, twisted it, and drove his own into her father's heart. It had happened so fast, her father had still been in the finishing step when he died.

Ferbius withdrew his sword, and saw his enemy slump to the ground.

"Rest in peace, noble warrior." Ferbius said. He turned his back, and wiped Draco on a piece of handy oilcloth. Behind him, Isabella pushed her way through the crowd of warriors. Drawing her falcata from her pack, she felt a huge, insurmountable rage well up in her, and silently ran towards Ferbius, preparing to stab him in the back.

Phinnius saw her run towards her brother as silently as she could. And he saw the cold look enter his brother's eyes again, and his wrist muscles tensing up again.

_He knows someone's coming with a sword, but not that it's her,_ he realized._ One slash behind his back, that's all he needs to do._

Knowing what he needed to do, he lunged forward, and barreled into her with his shield.

As Isabella furiously looked into the eyes of the legionary who had stopped her, she saw his red hair, and blue eyes. She gasped with shock.

And then, guilt surging in his heart, Phinnius knocked her out cold with the pommel of his _gladius_.

* * *

The other cohorts, Labienus at the head of them, trotted up.

"What is this, Tribune Fletchius?" Labienus queried.

"General, the man asked for single combat. His warriors and people are to go free, and we may exit unmolested. We are not to sack the settlement, or kill any soul that does not strike at us first."

"What was your motive, Fletchius?"

Ferbius licked his lips. "Expediency, sir. We were never to control this area, and it would take longer to raze it. We may leave now, and without threat from behind. All this I swore to Prefect Johnsinius, to the men at my side, to the foe, and to the man I slew. I will honor my agreement."

Labienus nodded. "Very well, Fletchius. Your statement and actions had reasonable merit."

He turned to the two cohorts who had fought. "Men! You have fought well today.

"All of you have fought well over the last few days, and are to be duly rewarded! Not today, however. We have sworn our names and honor to leave these people in peace. We return to Rome, where you may see your families again, and then northward, to Gaul!"

Labienus turned toward the remaining Celtiberians. "Do what you will. But _never_ cross Rome again."

Ferbius donned his armor again, as the cohorts formed up into marching order. He summoned his horse, mounted it, and heard Phinnius do the same. The redheaded soldier was having slight trouble, though, due to having to pull on an unconscious person. That person was in a dress of Tyrian purple, and had a light sack upon her back.

_Jupiter, tell me I have made the right choice_, Ferbius prayed.

**Reviews are always welcome, and constructive criticism even more so.**

**A side question, one that's merely for entertainment: Which sub-gens was involved with the creation of the Roman Republic and the end of it?**


	6. Remissio

**In case you're wondering, this story spans from 55 BC to 48 BC.**

**As always, please review. Thank you to all who have reviewed, followed, and favorited this story.**

**Disclaimer: Most of the characters either belong to Disney's Phineas and Ferb or history itself.**

Chapter 6: Remissio

0900 hrs, Fourteenth of January, 55 BC

Third Person POV

Isabella woke with a start. She looked around, confused, before she fully realized where she was.

She was on a horse. And she wasn't the only one on there.

Rage filled her as the memories surged back.

_Phinnius – a Roman? He said he would save me! He, he, he cut down my people! He stopped me from killing that cursed swordsman! _And then she started crying.

"And Father is… is dead." She whispered out loud.

Phinnius felt Isabella wake up, guilt welling in his heart. _What have I done?_

Isabella turned back and started screaming hysterically at him. "Why did you have to come?! Why did you come?! Why did you come?!"

Phinnius waited until her voice faded, her lungs too tired to continue the wailing. Around them, the legionaries were marching on foot, whilst the tribunes and legionary cavalry rode on either side of them. A few soldiers threw him sympathetic looks, but more of them looked at him with cruel smirks and laughter.

"I'm sorry, Isabella. I'm so, so, sorry."

Isabella, her face now covered in tears, asked him again, in a voice softer than a whisper. "Why did you have to _come_?"

"I'm sorry, Isabella. I'm a warrior. I have to do as my leaders say." Every drop streaking down Isabella's face was another weight of lead in Phinnius' heart.

He pulled out a tiny piece of fabric and wiped Isabella's eyes with it, hugging her close, whispering over and over, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Eventually, her eyes felt dry again, and Isabella sank back down onto the saddle. She was seated in front of Phinnius, allowing him to keep his arms on the reins while preventing her from falling.

She turned around and looked over her shoulder, where she saw one good thing.

Phinnius spoke up. "I found your horse in the stables, and I brought her."

Isabella nodded. "Thank you."

She sniffed. "She's beautiful, isn't she?" _Unlike my life, from now on._

"Yes, she is. And so are you." Phinnius said, the words slipping out of his mouth before he could curb his tongue. His face flushed, wondering what his tongue would get him into next.

Isabella looked at him in surprise. And for just a tiny instant, he saw a tiny twitch at the corners of her mouth.

_She is, though. Nothing incorrect about that._

He hugged her close, and said, one last time, "I'm sorry."

She sighed. And then she leaned back onto his chest, and whispered back.

"I know."

* * *

"Flinnius! Get your tent in order! General Labienus wants you at the meeting."

Phinnius shook himself out of his daze.

"Yes, Primipilus!" Moving with practiced ease, he set up the poles and canvas to form the sturdy shelter. As he was putting the last stake in the ground, he heard someone step behind him.

"How do you build all this and tear it down so often?" Isabella gestured to the camp around her.

Phinnius smiled. "Some people would tell you that's impossible. Well, my brother and I always had this thing for making the impossible possible, and so does Rome, I suppose. We practice, and we don't waste time. _Carpe Diem_, as the Epicureans say."

Isabella raised an eyebrow. "Carpe Diem? What does that mean?"

"Well, the Epicureans were a group of thinkers who said that happiness is the true goal of life, as well as the avoidance of pain. They said 'Carpe Diem', or seize the day."

"And what do they mean by that?"

Phinnius finished the last hammer strokes onto the stake. "They meant that you should live for the moment, and think about happiness that you could have now and later. But I think… I think what it should mean is that whatever you can do, make the most of what you have. Help people. Do what's right. We're all going to die someday, we can't change that. We can decide what to do with the time we have."

Isabella thought about it, and nodded, even letting a little smile cross her face. She was about to reply when a sneer rose up.

"So we're breeding with the dogs now, are we Flinnius?"

Rodneius was an old _evocatus_, famed for his skill with the sword. And even more renowned for the rumors of brutality and debauchery in every settlement he had breached.

Phinnius gritted his teeth. "Leave her alone, Rodneius."

"Fine. Anyways, the Primipilus is calling for you again, so you better hurry along."

Phinnius sighed. "Noted."

He turned back to Isabella. "So, I guess this is it. Stay close to the tent."

* * *

"… and thus, the return will be shielded from any Cantabri raiders. Is that clear?"

The officers nodded, acknowledging their understanding.

Labienus continued. "The Gauls are almost finished. I assume that when Caesar finally crushes them, we will move north. There is a land up there, called Britannia. People have also called it Albion, or the Tin Isle. It seems ripe for conquest.

"But such talk is for tomorrow. Gentlemen, you may return to your tents."

As the officers filed out, Labienus stopped Phinnius as he was about to leave.

"So, I heard you took a captive. A madman, supposedly, who attempted to stab your brother in the back."

Phinnius cleared his throat. "Not a madman, sir. Just a grieved woman."

"Ah. And this woman was the wife of…"

Phinnius licked his lips. "_Daughter_ of the enemy chief, sir. Part of the terms the chief had offered was that his daughter would be taken and protected as we would a royal captive. She walked right into our hands, sir, and saved us a search."

Labienus stared at the redheaded tribune's eyes. "And why do you surmise the chief would ask for that concession?"

"Sir, I… I believe that he was heirless, and that any man could claim the leadership, without the chief to decide an heir. Any man wishing to claim the title of chief would have to marry her – that, or kill her."

"So his intentions were that of pure paternal love?"

Phinnius took a deep breath. "Sir, I do believe so, sir."

"Has the possibility presented itself that all this was a ploy to get her inside our camp, so she could… enact her revenge upon the commanding officer?"

Phinnius was struck dumb. _Is it possible? Is that what Isabella came here for? _Though it was rational, logical, probable even, he did not believe it.

"She… she's a woman, sir. A mere woman." Phinnius himself didn't have anything against women, after a lifetime living with his fierce, independent sister. But anything to convince Labienus.

"A _Celtic_ woman. And a noble, as well. They are expected to be able to defend themselves with the sword. Not with the skill of a soldier, of course. But a man alone, asleep, in the dead of night…"

"That will not happen, sir. She…" _What could possibly make him believe?_

"She would not have attacked my brother with a sword if she intended to attempt an assassination. To show her weapon, her speed, it seems something of instinct instead of rationale.

"In addition, I will ensure that she does not attempt to harm you. However, General Labienus, there is one favor I ask you."

"And what is that, Tribune?"

"That I may also guard her. As per my brother's oath, we are sworn to treat her as a royal captive. Allow me the authority to punish any attempts by the ranks to her person, and to take her home to my family villa whilst Caesar comes back into command. In return, I will ensure that she does not try to kill you, and I will pay with my life should she harm you, unless by accident."

Labienus sat back into his command chair, his eyes not leaving Phinnius'.

"I have too much on my plate to deal with this. Your proposition is logical, and will suit me. But you _must_ uphold your agreement. In return, you have permission to administer a centurion's discipline should any man intend to harm this princess of yours.

"And Flinnius?" He asked.

Phinnius nervously replied. "Yes, sir?"

"If I hear noises – noises uncommon in the professional environment of a legion – coming from your tent in the night, it is on you should any man complain of sleeplessness."

* * *

Phinnius breathed a sigh of relief as he exited the tent. _That's cleared up with. Plus, I have some power to discipline with_. With that, a boyish grin landed on his face.

He played some dice with the men, lost twenty sesterces and gained fifty of it back, and drank. He tried to make himself happy, but the guilt of invading Isabella's homeland, slaughtering her people, and breaching her walls still lingered in his heart. He was just as surprised to have her forgiveness as Isabella was about giving it.

As he walked back to his tent, he thought bitterly, _How am I supposed to guard a girl whom I betrayed? Who would take a man like that? _

'I would. You are not at fault. You are truly good. And you are _worthy_.' A voice whispered.

"Who- Who is that?" Phinnius said, looking around. No man was around who wasn't preoccupied with something else.

Phinnius gave up soon, unwilling to go hunting after invisible voices. _I'm just imagining things._ And then he heard something, something he didn't imagine.

A scream.

* * *

_I can't keep this up for long_, she thought.

Isabella looked behind her, at the ten men sprinting after her. The greedy looks on their faces told her all she needed to know of their intentions. She thought back to how it had started.

She had changed into more comfortable clothing, and had walked out of Phinnius' tent to look at the stars, to hear their answers, perhaps to have them answer her many questions.

"Why did this happen? Don't the gods care about us?" She had tearfully whispered, curling her bare toes on the rock she had found next to Phinnius' bunk.

She had then sat down and curled into a fetal position, slowly crying, when she felt a voice whisper in her ear.

"No. They don't."

She had looked up, but had seen no one. "Stars? Are you talking to me?"

"I am not a star, ma'am. I am a messenger. Stars are sizable bodies consisting of layers of plasma held together by their own gravitons and are- never mind. All you need to know is, I'm not a star."

"Why do you call me ma'am?" She had asked.

"Your father." The voice replied. "He is the Great Chief."

"He _was_. And he wasn't very great, there are stronger chieftains to the north."

"Your father was a chief. But not this father I speak of. _He_ still lives. He hears you. He gives you strength, and courage, and honor." The voice reminded her of a warhorn from a distance, far away, but carrying with it a sense of majesty and power.

"He didn't help my people much." Isabella had whispered bitterly.

"He gave your father the wisdom needed to save his people. And he gave the Roman champion the wisdom, and goodness, to agree, and to keep his word.

"And he has given you the ability of his most precious gift, little one. It is one of his greatest powers, and it is truly marvelous."

"And what gift is that?" Isabella hadn't felt any sense of power.

The voice replied. "Forgiveness. The ability to have grace. And he has also given you- BEHIND YOU!"

Isabella had wheeled around and ducked, a wooden club whistling over her head. She had sprung up and begun running, sprinting as she had never sprinted before.

And there she was now, feeling her lungs burn as she tore through the camp.

"PHINNIUS!" She called, calling for the only person she knew would protect her. "PHINNIUS! PHINNI-"

Suddenly, her bare foot struck a rock, sending tendrils of agony into her foot and causing her to trip.

She saw the ground rushing up to her, and she realized that the men would catch her, and take brutal advantage of her.

And then she felt arms catching her.

She flailed about momentarily, before realizing who it was that had caught her.

_Phinnius_.

* * *

The ten men coming behind Isabella stopped upon seeing him hold Isabella in his arms, even as she held him close to her and stare, wide-eyed, at the men.

Phinnius spoke deliberately, trying to mask his anger. "What are your intentions, men of…"

Not again.

"…Thrace."

"We are looking for… fruit. _Ripe_ fruit." Their leader bared his teeth into something that resembled a smile.

"Not her. She is under my protection."

"Protection? You mean to claim her for your own, little man?"

"Little man. Seems like a lot of Thracians seem to call me that a lot. Especially around this girl." As he spoke, he looked and saw the tattoos on this gang of Thracians. He had seen those tattoos before. And then, the enormity of what Phinnius had just said came back to him. And his luck ran out.

The look on the Thracian's face suddenly went cold. The other nine surrounded Phinnius and Isabella in a circle, and drew out their weapons: _Rhomphaioi, makhairoi, _and_ sica _knive_s._

"Two of our men went missing before the battle. Might you know something about this?"

"I have no idea what you're-"

Phinnius whirled about, drew his _gladius_, and intercepted the incoming _makhairoi_, twisting the blade and sending it in the air, all in one clean move.

Another man came at him, and another, and another. Before long, five different men were hacking at him, and even then, Phinnius did not falter. Before long, countless wounds, several gaping, were inflicted on the Thracians, and the five backed off.

Phinnius, though, knew his wrist couldn't take any more interception of their blades. He had no shield with which to protect himself, or Isabella. To top it off, he was exhausted, and had not yet killed a single Thracian

Phinnius tried to talk them down. "Thracians! I am Tribune Phinnius Julius Flinnius, of Legio XIII, and I command you to desist!"

"No rank to save you, pretty boy!" All the men closed in, weapons high. There was nothing Phinnius could do, but he still hugged Isabella's crying face close to his chest and closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable blow.

One that never came.

* * *

_Thrust. Slash. Slash. Twist. Kick. Grab. Throw. Tear. Thrust. Hammer._

"Too easy." Ferbius murmured.

Both Phinnius and Isabella looked up.

Isabella began to back away from the enormous, green-haired giant, who stood like a silent god of war, an enormous sword dripping with blood. And then she stopped herself.

_He had the wisdom and honor to spare my people. And he gave Father honor, even in death_. Most of all, he had saved them, and that was enough.

"Th-Th-Thank you, sir." She stuttered.

"Isabella, this is my brother, Ferbius. Ferb, this is Isabella. The chief's daughter, and the girl I had to knock out."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Isabella." Ferbius said, and then kissed her hand.

As Phinnius carried her back to his tent, and washed her face and feet from blood and dirt, Isabella looked up at him, and again, she felt a tiny twitch at the corners of her mouth.

Ferbius inhaled deeply. "Lady Isabella, I am sorry for this predicament. We will attempt to make your time with us convenient for you, and we will keep you safe."

Phinnius nodded. "Both of us are sworn to protect you. And we will. Always. And…"

"And?" Isabella queried.

Phinnius finishd. "We are both sorry that your people were invaded by ours."

Ferbius continued. "We are soldiers, and we have to follow orders. We never wished you or your people harm."

Phinnius followed up. "We're sorry that your people were defeated and almost destroyed, and that me and my brother helped to do so. Please… please forgive us."

Isabella felt as if someone were smiling from above. And she finally let a small smile fight its way to her face.

"I forgive you. Both of you." Before she could control herself, the words came out. And even as she did, she found that she meant each one of them.

**Something I would like to make clear:**

**If any of you were to wonder why Ferbius is so frighteningly big, I will state now that the Roman version of a 'foot' is different from the modern US version. In reality, Ferbius is little over 7 American feet tall. Still massive, but it is a height that the best athletes and soldiers can attain today.**

**Ferb's sword, Draco, is not actually very heavy. It is roughly the same size and weight as a greatsword from the medieval period. Which isn't incredibly heavy, either. The reason that 'lesser men are unable to wield it' is that such swords require immense strength and stamina to slash again and again and again, not to mention controlling it so it doesn't accidentally kill your ally. Even Ferbius isn't immune to it; it is a bulky weapon that might cause accidents, whoever wields it. He wields more than one gladius in the standard legion formation, but whenever he enters a wedge formation, he is invariably placed as the point man, and he can wield Draco with utter impunity.**


	7. REM

**Folks, please review. Thank you to those who have. If you think this story is okay but needs work, then you can review and I can make it better. I really need reviews, as they let me know how the story is doing. Even if you think that this is shoddy, I still would appreciate constructive criticism. I'm using to practice my legitimate writing.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the show; most characters are either derived off those on the show or are from history.**

Chapter Seven: REM

1000 hrs, Twenty-fourth of April, 64 BC

"Ferb!" The happy little voice rang out.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." The reply came from a tall, strong, and very grumpy boy with green hair. He hurried up the polishing of the sword in his lap.

_Why does she always call me that_? Ferbius wondered. _I'm not a kid anymore_.

Perrixius picked up the polished sword, looked at Ferbius, and gave him a smile.

He and Ferbius had agreed that whilst he would have daily, nonstop, back-breaking training for most of the year, in the summer he would have only 4 hours of weapons training and two hours of fitness training. That left him free to build with his little brother, Phinnius, and his other friends.

Ferbius dropped a dozen one-armed pushups, and then ran downstairs.

Outside his gate, there was a little brown-haired girl, about his age. She was lithe, strong, and athletic, and she had a tanned, yellowish tinge to her skin after days spent playing in the sun.

Ever since they had met each other as babies, Ferbius and Vanisse had been the best of friends. In fact, there was even talk that they would get married.

Whilst the two children, now at the age of twelve, never knew a thing about a marriage arrangement, Vanisse was adamant that she would marry Ferbius one day.

Ferbius, of course, knew absolutely nothing about this.

* * *

As they both walked into the yard, Phinnius was building a little boat, but with a strange triangle sail, as well as a mounted crossbow in front. Bufordus, the son of one of the Fletchii household guards, was helping him, the big thirteen year-old capable of doing much of the heavy lifting.

"Hey Vanisse! Hey Ferb!" The cheerful little nine-year-old said.

_And there's that nickname again_. Ferbius sighed. _At least it's their way of saying they love me._

"Hey Phinnius. Watcha doin'?" Vanisse replied.

"I'm building a boat. This triangle sail will allow for better tacking against the wind, and with this crossbow, I can look cool!"

Ferbius and Vanisse smiled. "Well, don't unleash your terrifying navy on all of us, Phinnius. Vae Victis."

"See you Ferb! See you Vanisse!"

Vanisse and Ferbius walked out of the gate of the family estate, chewing a few honeyed dates from the kitchen.

"What are we gonna do today, Ferb?" Vanisse asked cheerfully

"Don't call me Ferb. My name's Ferbius." Ferbius grumbled.

"Well, then, you can stop calling me Vanissia."

"Yes, sure Vanisse…ia."

"Admit it, Ferb, you can't do it." Vanissia giggled.

"Alright, whatever… race you to the top of the hill and over?" Ferbius asked.

"You're on. Hey, what's that over there?" Vanissia pointed.

"Wait, what? What are you – VANISSE!" Ferbius yelled, even as Vanissia tried to extend her ten-yard advantage. It was to no avail, though. Ferbius tore up the hill, easily passing her. She was athletic, quick, and fast, faster than even the other boys. But Ferbius was in a league similar to that of an African warrior of the plains. And run he did, running and running and running, passing Vanissia easily.

At one point, she called out, "Ferb!"

He laughed and kept on running, running until he reached the bottom of the cliff on the other side.

"Vanisse?"

He couldn't see his friend anywhere.

"Vanisse? Vanisse?"

Ferbius was beginning to get frightened. He ran back to the starting line, but still couldn't find Vanissia. He walked up and down the road they had just raced on, looking for any sign of his friend.

And then he saw it. Right where she would have been when she had called his name. A dagger had been stuck into a wooden beam, and it was pinning a note to the oak.

Written in ink red as blood, the note read:

'You won't find her again. Don't even try. Baal-Tanit will be pleased.'

* * *

"A Spartan Peer?"

Perrixius put on his helmet.

"Perrixius the Peer?!"

Perrixius nodded.

Doofinshmirtes shrugged. "Well, as it happens, I don't have anything planned today. If you want to, we could just relax right here. I have some good grapes. Want a bunch?"

Perrixius shrugged. He and Doofinshmirtes sat at a table, opened a flask of wine, and ate grapes.

Doofinshmirtes spat out a grape seed and yawned. "You know, Perrixius the Peer, I think things are going quite well over here. I mean, other than the fact you blew up my 'Greek Fire' the other day, things have settled down. I've found a small part-time job in the city, and between that and the money my former wife makes, I should be able to afford another tutor for Vanissia."

Inside his helmet, Perrixius smiled. He knew that Doofinschmirtes loved his little daughter, who was of an age with Ferbius.

Suddenly, he heard a rap on the door.

"I'll get it!" Doofinschmirtes called. He went over to the door and opened it, revealing a dusty and panting Ferbius.

Perrixius saw the exhaustion in Ferbius' body, and realized that the boy must have sprinted for almost half an hour to get here from the Flinnius-Fletchius estate.

"It's Vanissia."

* * *

The three _vigiles_ had asked Ferbius everything he knew. He had told them the story, and shown them the dagger and the note.

"We'll get this all sorted out. We'll be back to you soon, Equestrian Doofinshmirtes."

As they shut the door, Doofinshmirtes started running about, screaming.

"AAAAAAHHH! They've got Vanissia! They'll probably torture her, murder, and ask her questions about pork! Th-th-th-this can't be happening!"

Doof turned towards the bemused Perrixius and Lawrencius Fletchius.

"Help me, Perrixius the Spartiate! Help me find… er, what does that note actually mean?"

Lawrencius sighed. "It's been a while since I've thought of this, but… Masinissa?"

A tall Numidian, wearing the badge of a patrician vigiles officer, walked into the room. Masinissa was an immigrant descendant of the Numidian princes who had helped Rome defeat Carthage at Zama, and to raze Carthage itself. His son, Coltranius, would be in the legions soon, and was a good friend to Ferbius' older sister, Candacia.

Masinissa began. "The Carthaginians believed in a plethora of gods they inherited from their Phoenician forefathers. Chief among those gods was Baal-Hammon. Their best troops, the Sacred Band, were the chosen warriors of Baal-Hammon. Another chief god of theirs was Tanit, god of wanton love. She had her own Sacred Band as well, though they did not join the army in times of war, but enforced the rules of their beliefs.

"I do not know what these kidnappers have planned, but the daily sacrifice to Baal-Hammon was…."

"Was what?" Doofinshmirtes asked.

"It was composed of young children, stripped bare and tossed onto the hands of a statue of Baal. The statue was made of black iron, but the fires they set under it caused the hands to turn white from the heat.

"I don't know why they would incorporate Tanit's name into Baal-Hammon's. But I do know that the seasonal festival of Baal and the weekly festival of Tanit will coincide tomorrow, or would if the Carthaginians were still around."

"So who might have committed this crime?"Lawrencius asked.

Masinissa was silent for a minute. Then he spoke up again. "There is a new gang rising in the streets at night. They have proven illusive, and yet have subjugated most of the minor gangs into their ranks, and have brought down a few major ones.

"They call themselves the Sacred Band. The vigiles have worked with the garrison legionnaires to assault their bases, but every attempt always ends with suicide by all surviving gang members. It is hard to apprehend many of them, as they fight fanatically, and we have no choice but to respond with lethal force, usually ending with only a few survivors, all of whom stab themselves rather than be captured. In addition, they are willing to allow other gangs to do their work for them, and whilst we may wipe out a minor gang, the core members of the Sacred Band are the only targets of worth."

"And you think it might be them?" Lawrencius queried.

"I know it, sir. I know it."

* * *

Ferbius listened to the words from outside the room. He wanted to burst in there, to ask the thousands of questions raging through his mind, but he couldn't.

_They would ask me to leave. And they wouldn't let me help_. Ferb thought grimly.

So he thought. And he thought. And then he had a plan.

That night, Ferbius collected a good sword from the armoury. He donned a tough leather jerkin, thick trousers, strong boots, and a padded hood, the closest thing one could have for armour within the city.

He ran out of the villa and climbed over the estate's walls, before slinking into Rome proper.

* * *

He avoided the main public buildings or the governmental structures, and headed into the shadier areas of the city.

More than once, he stumbled on a heavy block, or stepped on something he could only hope was mud. _Thank the gods I am wearing boots._

Suddenly, he heard a loud, bone-chilling screech and almost jumped. It was as high as a women's voice, but the voice was different, different in a way he couldn't place.

He looked around him in fear, but could see nothing. He continued, keeping his hand on his sword, reminding himself of its presence. _As long as I have a sword, I have a chance._

"Hel…."

Ferbius whirled around, and saw a man lying on the ground in a pool of blood.

"Help…..me…."

"What do you want?"

"Put me out…. please…"

As Ferbius approached, he saw the man's predicament. A knife had been planted in his side, right where it hurt the most, and had been left there. The man had lost too much blood, and needed to be put out of his misery.

Ferbius, however, was here for something. "First, have you seen a young girl with brown hair, about my age?"

"Wait…. yes… maybe…."

"Who did you see her with?"

"Has…dru….bal…"

_Hasdrubal? That's a Carthaginian name._

"Do you know of the Sacred Band?

"…. Sacred…. Band… oh, yes."

"Where can I find them?"

The stabbed man coughed violently, and for a few moments he found it marginally easier to talk.

"I am one of them. Or was… I didn't like the sacrifice, you see."

"What sacrifice?"

"Hasdrubal…. He… showed us all his god. He proclaimed him the god of gods, and the god of love.

"Even then, we still didn't run… We should have…. And when I disagreed with the idea...

"If that little girl's your friend, boy, then run…. over there… straight onwards. But first…"

Ferbius nodded. He raised his sword high.

He shed a single tear. He may not have known the man for very long, but the man had suffered a painful death, and had given him good information.

And then, he ran.

* * *

Ferbius was running as fast as he possibly could, looking for any sign of Vanissia.

He had been traveling so fast, he almost stumbled upon the shape crumpled on the ground at his feet.

"What the…" He looked down at the naked figure, which had a likeness of a red flame scrawled on the ground below it.

"VANISSE?!"

"Ferb?" A tiny whisper came.

As he helped her up, he realised she was in a bad way. The cuts to her shoulders were bad enough. So was the large bump on her forehead. And there was blood between her legs, at the meeting of her thighs, a horrifying implication as to what had happened.

"What did they do to you?"

"They… they…" And then she collapsed, and Ferbius lowered her gently against the wall.

_I'll need to get the vigiles. Maybe the doctors will be able to save her, though they won't be able to give back her_- A knife thudded right in front of Ferbius' face.

"I don't think so, boy. I don't think so."

* * *

For once, Ferbius saw absolutely no need to curb his tongue.

"Who are you?!" He screamed.

"I am Hasdrubal. And you are dead."

Around Ferbius, a dozen torches were it and planted, forming an eerie circle.

Out came Ferbius' _gladius_ as his eyes glared, looking back and forth for a threat.

"Do you want us to come out? Very well."

Out of the shadows stepped more than a score of men, clad in black with knives and clubs in their hands.

"You filthy Roman. Always coming with your pride, your _virtus_, and your _fortuna_. You think you can rule the world? You think you can kill the last sons of Carthage?"

A big man, whose face was shrouded by a cowl, stepped another pace forward.

"What do you think now, boy? Feeling lucky?"

At the sound of his voice, Vanisse whimpered and huddled even closer to Ferbius. Ferbius struggled to put keep his anger from dominating his head, even as he asked, "What do you want?"

"Well, what do I want? Maybe I want your little friend again. She was such fun, I'll tell you… pity you don't understand what I'm talking about."

"I… I understand." Already, the rage was taking over in his head, and he no longer felt much need to combat it.

"Well, then, I'll tell you. Your little friend has been picked for our sacrifice to Baal. However, first, she needed to be... broken in, and in the Ring of Fire." Hasdrubal gestured towards the likeness of the fire on the floor. "She was like a fresh piece of cake, just waiting to be eaten. Tanit was most pleased with her sacrifice… and I'm not sure if your friend was completely against it, either."

That was the last straw.

* * *

Ferbius would always say he couldn't remember what happened next.

That was a lie.

He had launched himself towards at least twenty armed gang members. Any other twelve-year-old boy, even a Gaul or a Spartiate would have been killed.

But Ferbius was unlike any other boy.

Hacking, slashing, and stabbing, he weaved in and out of the ranks of the gang members. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he released the lifeblood out of others. He flew at his enemies, thrusting again and again and again, eager to impale them with the same brutality that comes upon a lion whose cubs are threatened. He was massive and strong for a boy his age, and even burlier than half of the men surrounding him. Those who were stronger than Ferbius were slower, and less skilled.

And then, it was him, alone, growling in anger. Hasdrubal stood at the other end of the alley. Around them was a horde of corpses, brutal sword wounds on each one of them.

"HASDRUBAAAAAL!" He screamed in anger, tightening the grip on his sword.

As he charged right towards the Carthaginian, he felt his heart racing, heard his feet pounding as they slammed against the stones.

Suddenly, a burning brand streaked across his face. "AAAAGH!"

As he paused, he looked up, towards Hasdrubal. The descendant of Carthaginians had another throwing knife in his hand, aimed right at Ferbius.

"Wrong move, and the next one finds your heart!" Hasdrubal called out.

Ferbius was in no mind to think, though. He roared and began to charge towards Hasdrubal, even though at the back of his mind there was a tiny voice screaming 'NO!'.

The next knife hurtled towards Ferbius before he even finished his first stride.

He smacked his sword at the throwing knife, then at the second, and then the third.

Ferbius deflected a fourth, sending it spinning to the side.

And before he could yell, it struck Vanissia in the chest.

* * *

Ferbius didn't know what to do. His friend, his best friend throughout his childhood other than Phinnius, had just been killed.

Killed by the dagger that he had struck.

He rushed over to her, screaming, kneeling before her naked body. He felt his head being pulled back, cold steel being put to his throat, and he didn't care, didn't care, didn't care.

And a gout of blood erupted as the tip of a kopis erupted through Hasdrubal's chest, and Perrixius loomed behind him.

"Vanisse?"

He cradled her limp body, and saw that her eyes were open, but glassing over.

"Vanisse… Vanisse… don't go…"

She looked at him and smiled wanly. Tears were filling up in her eyes, and Ferbius felt his eyes getting wet as well. Behind him, Perrixius' eyes were tearing up as well, as the little girl, his frenemy's own daughter, lay dying. He wished he could just say a word of comfort, but alas, even if he had one to mind, he could only growl.

"Ferb… I can't help it… there's a light, and I'm being called into it… Goodbye, Ferb. And…"

Vanissia felt herself receding, the pain in her side fading in place of numbness.

"And what?"

"I love you, Ferb. Goodbye."

* * *

Ferbius woke up with a start, tears unconsciously welling up in his eyes.

As he calmed down and lay back down on his bed, he thought of Vanissia, who had died nine years ago.

After the vigiles had come and sorted the mess out, it had been revealed that almost every core member of the Sacred Band had been present in the alley, and had lost their lives to Ferbius' blade. With their deaths, the Sacred Band had lost all their power, and was reduced to a few dying vestiges.

The vigiles had offered to reward him, to announce his feat to all of Rome, but he had declined.

He had come to save his best friend, and come back with her broken body. To him, the Dragon of Rome, the perfect warrior, this had been his first and only true failure. And it had struck him where it hurt the most.

Even as he fell back into slumber, he thought of Phinnius, and that raven-haired girl, Isabella, who was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

Ferbius sighed, and hoped that whatever happened, Phinnius would not fail with his ward where Ferbius had failed with his.

**Vanissia is, if you want a mental picture of her, Vanessa, but with Isabella's cuteness from the show.**

**This is probably the darkest chapter this story will contain.**


	8. Where the Heart Is

**Disclaimer: Almost all characters are either derived from those on the show, which belongs to Disney Corp., or are from ****history.**

**Please review: I really want to know your thoughts.**

Chapter 8: Where the Heart is

1000 hrs, Twenty-third of April, 55 BC

Third Person POV

_We are the men of the Thirteenth Legion,_

_We don't give crap for anything._

_We kill barbarians for breakfast,_

_and march right home with all our bling._

_We are the men of the Thirteenth Legion,_

_We're the strongest of which you'll ever hear._

_We defeat so-called invincible armies,_

_and we make the fearless fear!_

Isabella groaned. She had counted at least fifty verses, and the legionaries showed no sign of stopping.

"How much longer does this song continue, Phinnius?"

Phinnius turned to his left, where Isabella rode Pinkices right next to him.

He shrugged. "Centurion! What verse was that?"

"The one about making the fearless fear."

"Ah."

He turned back to Isabella.

"Two hundred and eighty-six to go, Isabella."

Isabella moaned. Phinnius sighed.

"Sorry, Isabella."

Isabella nodded. "How far is it from Rome?"

Phinnius thought for a moment. "We passed Ariminum last week, after Mediolanium, which was last month. We should be there pretty soon."

Right as he said it, a cheer rang out from the men.

Phinnius and Isabella rode to the front of the column, where the officers were gathered. As they crested the hill, they beheld the breathtaking sight before them.

Phinnius looked over at Isabella, whose involuntary gasp was the only sound she made as she tried to take in the massive city.

It sat upon seven hills, ringed by towering stone walls, which were interspersed with scorpion towers and huge onager ramparts for defense. Inside its limits were huge compounds of congested housing, vast sprawls of good housing for the well-to-do, beautiful villas of the patricians, and the colossal buildings of the Senate, the Amphitheatre, and the Pantheons.

"Well, Isabella, welcome to Rome."

* * *

As they made their way to the city, Isabella glimpsed an oblong building, situated atop a steep hill. The building was tall and had a shape similar to Ferbius'. Suddenly, a fierce explosion erupted at the top of the tower, which was followed by a thick smoke and a faint cry, "Curse, you, Perrixius the Peer! And you didn't even shut the door! Come back here, there are flies getting in!"

Phinnius chuckled. "That would be a friend of mine."

Isabella looked at him. "You have some strange friends, Phinnius."

"Yes, yes I do."

At a certain point, Phinnius and Ferbius broke from the column and saluted Labienus before coming back for Isabella.

"Our villa is outside the walls. It's where our family is trained with the sword, and no blades are allowed within the city limits, so our family had to build it elsewhere."

Behind them, they could hear the quartermasters demand the soldiers to turn in their arms, which would be stored in the city armouries.

After a few minutes of trotting, they arrived at the door of a big, walled complex.

The two brothers vaulted off their horses, Phinnius then helping Isabella dismount from her horse. She thought spitefully spurning his offer of help, then decided that after the exhausting march, no one needed that attitude. Ferbius continued towards the door and hammered it with his fist, once, twice, thrice.

"Who goes there?" A voice rang out from the top of the wall.

"We're back, Carolus!"

A deep chuckle rose out, before the massive doors of oak and iron were opened, revealing a massive shape. "I've missed you, little Phinnius."

The Arverni wearing the armour of a high-ranking servant of security, was a huge man, with great prowess with the two-handed sword, as was evident by the easy way he handled the one in his hand. He gave Phinnius a spine-cracking hug, and then received one in turn from Ferbius. Even the Gaul had to look up at the green-haired giant, who dwarfed him by half a foot.

"And who's this?"

Phinnius gestured to both of them. "Carolus, we introduce to you Isabella, of the Garciates of central Iberia. Isabella, we give to you Carolus Martelles, or Carl the Hammer. You might even call him Charles, but he hates that name. He's the chief of security in our household, and one of the finest swords we've ever seen."

"Not as fine as that green-haired galoot of a brother you have over there, little Phinnius!" Carolus' booming laugh rang out again.

"Come!" The big Gaul gestured. "We will eat well tonight, in your honour!"

As Isabella and the two brothers lead their horses into the compound, Carolus lead the big packhorse that held all their luggage behind them.

"So, how've things been in Rome while we've been gone?"

"Well, lad, you should ask your father. I'm not much for politics, truth to be told. I prefer opponents that I can walk right up to and brain with my sword."

Phinnius smiled. "You haven't changed, have you?"

"No, I haven't!" The boisterous barbarian roared.

As they walked into the house, they were greeted by a little girl running up to them, giggling. "Uncle Phinnius! Uncle Ferbius!"

Phinnius' grin grew even wider. "Hello, do I know you?"

The little girl nodded.

"Amanda Graecus Johnsinius! You are so…" Candacia poked her head out. "They're back!"

_She's mellowed with age_, Phinnius noted.

"Hey, big sis." He called.

She was no longer bigger than him, but he always been the little brother, and that would always be the same.

She hugged him, and then Ferbius, before continuing to talk.

"We missed you guys! It's been almost a year since you guys walked out of that door with all your stuff! So, what was it like?"

"Mostly marching, over and over again. But we did have quite a few fights." Phinnius thought for a moment. "Why aren't you at home, Candacia?"

"Well, we heard that your Legion would be returning today, so we're having a family celebration today. Jeremius will be here later, and so will Father. So, did anything eventful happen?"

Before Phinnius could answer, another voice spoke up.

"Phinnius! Ferbius!" Their mother, Lindana rushed up to them and embraced the both of them.

"We missed you too, mom." Phinnius mumbled.

"Hello! Who're you?" Amanda asked Isabella.

"Um…."

"Mother, Candacia, this is Isabella. She's my-"

"Betrothed?" Amanda asked.

Phinnius struggled to keep himself from laughing. "No, my new friend. Isabella, this is my mother, Lindana, my sister, Candacia, and my niece, Amanda."

"Hi!" Amanda waved.

Isabella couldn't help but smile and wave back.

* * *

That night, the whole family, and Isabella, too, ate to their hearts' content. Ferbius, Phinnius, and Carolus tried to outdo the others in the amount of food they could put down, wolfing down whole portions of meat, cheese, and bread.

Well after midnight, after Jeremius and Candacia had brought Amanda home, Ferbius, Phinnius and Isabella sat on the balcony on the second floor, enjoying the night view of the city.

"You have a good life here, Phinnius." Isabella whispered.

"Yes, yes we do."

"Why do you leave your home to fight?"

Phinnius scratched his redheaded scalp.

"We don't really have a choice. All young men have to join the army, and some stay in there for life."

He sighed. "I do miss this place, and all my family, and my friends, too. But honour is honour, and duty is duty. We're Roman citizens, patricians, and as such we have to do our duty for Rome.

"For the next few years, I probably won't be able to return home. But, well, home is in the heart. And I'll never forget my home."

Isabella smiled. "I won't forget this place, either."

And without them noticing, their hands found each other under the stars.

**Just a quick notice: I won't be updating very frequently until Finals Week, in about three weeks. Once Christmas Break starts, however, I will be updating very frequently.**

**Please review. Constructive criticism is always welcome.**


	9. When in Rome

**Disclaimer: Almost all characters are either derived off those on Disney's Phineas and Ferb, or are from history.**

**As always, please review. Constructive criticism always recommended, or questions about the history.**

Chapter 9: When in Rome

0800 hrs, Twenty-fourth of April, 55 BC

Third Person POV

Isabella pulled herself out of the bed and untangled her hair.

_What does my hair do at night?_ Isabella wondered. _Hold a moot with wine and roast meat?_

It took a moment for her to remember where she was.

The room that the Flinnius-Fletchius family had given to her was more luxurious than anything she had ever lived in before. There was a brass plate that she could see her reflection in, where she had to look in rivers before. The walls were not wooden or stone, but were made of clean plaster, white as the clouds in the sky.

For furniture, there was an oaken table, and a chair on one side of the room. On the table was a small chest with a key, as well as a vase with wildflowers in it. On the other side of the room was a large, soft bed, filled with heather. It was the most comfortable bed she had ever slept in, soft, but with a sense of firmness as well.

The room was splendid. And yet, she felt out of place.

_Is this the kind of life for me?_ She wondered.

She heard grunts and faint clashing of metal, and stepped onto the balcony that lay opposite of the door.

* * *

"Aaaaaannnd… halt!"

The ten men in formation around Phinnius stopped as one, bringing their heavy boots down in unison.

"Wedge by face…. Right!"

The ten men, sweating under their armor, turned ninety degrees to the right, and fanned out, before coming together in a wedge behind the redhead, all in less than three seconds.

_Not bad_, Phinnius thought. _Not bad at all_.

Twenty yards away, ten pairs of men slogged it out with shield and wooden sword, endlessly dueling with each other under the watchful eye of a yard instructor. In another section of the yard, ten other men were performing sword drills against wooden posts, with Carolus calling cadence, whilst the last ten, led by Ferbius, lifted weights of rock and iron, building strength and muscle.

With his sons home, Lawrencius Julius Flinnius-Fletchius had seen fit to allow them to assist Carolus with the drilling of the security staff. By security staff, of course, he had meant the highly trained small army, composed of well-paid, loyal, lifetime servants, that belonged to the Flinnius-Fletchius family, and the Julii as a whole.

The walls of the estate were guarded by twenty men, posted in groups of four at strategically placed watchtowers. A dozen men walked the walls in pairs, while another eight guarded the iron gate at the entrance of the estate, which consisted of a sizable villa, a sleeping quarters and armory for the large paid servant population, and the stables, as well as the yard. The last ten men were kept in reserve, under a lean-to, which sheltered them from the hot Italian sun.

After their jog in the early morning, the men would be placed into two groups. The first would guard the estate whilst the second trained, and after three hours, vice versa. After both groups had drilled, the men would continue to shuffle for drilling duty, but would otherwise have free time to spend in and around Rome, and the estate as well.

_Father wants Ferbius and I to come with him to the Senate, and see how things are going in the political arena_, Phinnius recalled. The redhead sighed. Both Ferbius and Phinnius hated politics in general, and Lawrencius had frequently expressed his dislike of it as well.

However, the _gens_ Julia had need of every member, and the Flinnius-Fletchius branch had something none of the other branches, or possibly any other gens, possessed, and that was a well-trained, small army, which was almost as capable as legionaries. Also, it was always a good idea to know the current happenings, even if one could simply hide inside his walls.

He turned around to the men behind him. Some were grizzled veterans, honest but poor, who had no home to go to and had taken up the job offer. Most of them, though, were able men, young and old, who were part of the paid servant families who lived on the estate, and had lived and served on it since before Phinnius' grandparents were born. Said men had grown up with the family and on the estate, and could be counted on to fight not just for their pay, but for their masters and their home.

"Come on, then, what are you all standing about for? Testudo, now!"

* * *

Isabella watched the men drill in fascination. She had seen warriors train, hundreds of times, but the ad hoc, brutal sparring that her tribe had learned to fight with was nowhere near the calm professionalism of the system used to indoctrinate these men.

She had seen it before, traveling with the legion, and yet, the discipline of these Romans continued to amaze her. The daily scenes of brutal drilling that the legion went through, and these men went through as well, had answered all questions about how her tribe had been so easily crushed.

She decided that she had had enough sleep, and went to change into her clothes. Instead of her old clothes, though, she found a fine, sleeveless Celtic dress, with a sturdy waiststring, and a light jacket to cover her arms and upper body. There was even a fine torc for her neck. After washing herself in the tub of warm water left in the strange, albeit clean Roman lavatory, she donned the clothing, and found that it fit her quite well, although a bit on the big side.

_How did they get clothes like this?_ She wondered, and then remembered the huge Arverni warrior. _He must have known what Celtic garb would suit me._ Even in sweltering Iberia, men knew, through both kinship and fearsome reputation, of their Gallic kin, and it seemed that the knowledge went both ways.

As she cleaned up her hair, she thought of the slight embarrassment she had felt the night before, when she and Phinnius both realized that their hands had been holding. Both shrank away from each other momentarily… but eventually, they leaned close together again, until both had decided that it was time to sleep.

The memory made blood rush to her face, and she splashed cold water onto it.

"Calm down, Isabella." She said out loud. "Leave that thought for another time."

She opened the door, and found herself staring into the face of a stranger.

* * *

"Ah!" Isabella cried in surprise.

The stranger lifted an eyebrow. He was leaning against the wall opposite the door, his left hand nonchalantly resting on a big, round object.

"Who're you?"

The stranger stared at her.

"Well, um, what do you want?" She said in Latin.

"You speak Latin?" A hoarse voice came from the stranger.

"Well, yes… you talk?"

The stranger nodded. He gestured to her, asking for an explanation.

"Well, I learned a lot back in my village, and Phinnius and Ferbius helped teach me some more. I think I'm pretty handy with it. Now what about you? Why don't' you talk much?"

The stranger raised an eyebrow again. Isabella began to observe him more carefully. He was of average height, with a muscular but lean frame. At his side hung a stick about the length and apparent weight of a short sword.

"Yes," Isabella continued. "I answered your question, now you answer mine."

The lean stranger sighed. "Incident eighteen years ago. Bodyguard duty. Heavy blows to the neck and the head. Won the fight, but for a while, I just couldn't speak… until about two years ago. It still hurts my throat to talk, and I can only do it at barely more than a whisper."

"Oh." The realization that it must have hurt to talk that much made Isabella feel guilty. "I'm sorry for asking you to talk."

The stranger smiled and shrugged. "I can still make one loud noise." He gave off a chilling noise from the bottom of his throat, a mix between growl and rattle.

"The one noise I could make back then. I'm guarding you today, and you're free to explore Rome; see that you don't end up in a fight where I lose something again."

"Ah." Isabella realized that Phinnius might not be able to guard her from escaping, which she saw no point of, or to guard her from danger, which she did see the point of. So, he had asked this quiet stranger to look after her.

"Well, I think I'm going to go now." She said.

The stranger nodded. He put on a helmet that covered his head and a large part of his face. The helmet had a horsehair plume at the top, of a strange greenish-blue color.

"I'm Isabella." Isabella felt foolish for forgetting to introduce herself. "What's your name?"

The stranger lifted up the round object, which turned out to be a massive shield, covered by hide, and slung it onto his back.

"Perrixius." He whispered.

* * *

"So are all these servants slaves?" Isabella asked.

"No. They're paid, free men, who've lived here from their childhood, live here now, and will have their own children live here." The quiet man replied.

"Mayhaps you don't want to talk so much, Perrixius." Isabella commented.

He shrugged. "You're new. I can be talkative now. Doesn't hurt as much as you would think, either." Perrixius smiled under his helmet, and Isabella realized that though he might not talk much, the man was by no means an irritable person.

As the two of them walked out of the estate, Isabella once again marveled at the massive walls encompassing Rome. _What kind of machine could break walls such as these?_ She wondered.

The two of them walked through the gates with the crowd, and she beheld the inside of the city. Thousands of people were in the streets alone, hustling and bustling ringing out. Thankfully, the crowd was fairly loosely spread out, and they didn't have to shove through the mass of humanity. Still, Isabella was stunned at the sheer amount of people passing through the city. Her mouth gaped at the multitude of buildings around her, the shopkeepers hawking food or offering their goods, and the people, the hordes of people who passed through the gate and filled the city.

She wandered forward, Perrixius shadowing her every move. After a while, Isabella saw a point where a red line crossed the clean, sturdy road. There was a sign placed where the line was, displaying words in Latin.

"Perrixius, I'm sorry. Could you…?"

The quiet man cleared his throat. "This is the Pomerium, or the main city zone. No weapons or armies allowed beyond this point."

"Ah. Alright."

* * *

Both continued to walk in the zone outside the Pomerium. Perrixius smiled inwardly as the girl began to chatter to him, comparing how big Rome was to her Celtiberian village.

_Like when me, when I first came, _he thought.

The Spartiate occasionally appraised the girl who he was accompanying. She was undoubtedly the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, but beyond that, there was the way she acted, the way she spoke to him, and the way she apologized in broken Latin to those she accidentally bumped into.

_A sweet girl. Kind-hearted. _

There were also her lithe, graceful movements, and the lean set of muscle that she possessed. She was considerably athletic, and if she was Celtiberian, it was more than likely she could ride well. As a Spartiate, Perrixius approved.

_Thankfully, she isn't Spartan_. He mused. _I don't want the only honorable death for a girl like her to be childbirth._ _I wonder how Doof's enjoying his vacation. Cephas the Numidian will have his hands full. _

"Why's he so quiet, anyways?"

Perrixius suddenly became aware that Isabella had asked him something. He was surprised at how deep he had been thinking.

_Sloppy. If there had been a gang closing about us…_

"Um… could you say that again?" He whispered.

"Ferbius. Why's he so quiet?"

Perrixius froze. He looked at the buildings around him.

_This street, that night. _This_ street. What coincidence._

"I mean, after the first few days of explaining and telling me what to do and not to do, he barely spoke at all. Not at all to me, just a bit to Phinnius, and some to the officers. And I suppose he has no choice for the last one, and he doesn't have anything wrong with his throat, so…"

Perrixius gestured for her to follow him.

As he led her through the winding alleys, he received flashes, memories of himself sprinting along the dusty trail of Ferbius, and after the sounds of slaughter in the night. And memories of him coming too late to help.

Finally, he stopped. _This is it. This is the place._

Inscribed in harsh words was a sign, carved into stone, right where he remembered himself killing the man about to slit Ferbius' throat. And where Vanissia had her last breath.

Isabella stopped at the sign. She couldn't read the Latin, but there were some pictograms written underneath each word. The pictures were ominous, even though she couldn't fully grasp the story.

"Perrixius… what does this sign say?"

The lean man stood silent for a moment. Then he took off his helmet, held it against his chest, and spoke, his voice even more hoarse than normal.

"'Here is the site of the slaughter of a gang, composed of exiled Carthaginians, who dared to trifle Rome. Let them lie, and let their ghosts warn you what happens to the enemies of Rome.' Ferbius was here when it happened."

"He was part of the gang?"

Isabella realized how stupid that question was as it came out of her mouth.

"I mean, he was with the guards who killed them?"

Perrixius raised an eyebrow. "This happened 9 years ago. He was 12."

"So… he followed them and witnessed their deaths?"

Perrixius sighed. "These men had kidnapped and raped one of his friends, his closest and dearest, one no older than he was at the time, and he had come to rescue her."

"Then?"

"They let him see her, let him cradle her, and then they attacked."

"What?!"

"With knives and swords. Outside the Pomerium, see."

"How did he survive?"

"He brought a sword with him."

"Oh." Isabella had seen Phinnius' brother training with the legion, and had marveled at his massive frame and unstoppable power and skill. It seemed reasonable that he might have made it out.

"So how did he escape?"

"He didn't." Perrixius looked her in the eyes, and in there she saw a sense of regret, of sadness, of anger, but deeper inside, a certain pride.

The man whispered, almost as if he would have done it by choice if he weren't forced to do so anyways. "He charged at them and slaughtered them all. A twelve-year-old, armed with a borrowed sword, surrounded by 30 men in the dark, cut every one of them down, without a single scratch on him."

Isabella's eyes grew wide as saucers.

He continued. "He was too late to save his friend, though. A knife that he deflected found its way into her heart, and he only had a few moments before she breathed her last."

Perrixius felt a strange sensation, of salty water dripping from his eyes.

"He never got over it, and was as quiet as he could be afterwards." Perrixius donned his helmet to hide his tears. "We summoned the _vigiles_, the police force, and cleaned it up in the end. Ferbius was to be honored with a whole sack of golden coins, but to him, the shiny metal held less value than the steel he had in his hands. So instead, they gave him Draco, the sword he has now."

Isabella felt overwhelmed. She had heard many stories of war from the Romans, and even more from her own tribe, but she had never heard of anything like this.

"Perrixius?" She asked, as both of them left the alley.

He turned and raised an eyebrow.

"Do you think he could have saved her? Knocked away that knife?"

The Spartiate, remembering that night, when he had stumbled into the alley only to see that knife plunge into Vanissia, thought for a second.

He shook his head.

**Please review. Constructive criticism is always welcome.**

**As to the Anonymous Guest reviewer, yes, Graecus does mean 'Greek'. Jeremius Graecus Johnsinius' forebears were Athenian immigrants, just like Jeremy Johnson's forebears are from England. I couldn't come up with another name on the spot, and it's meant to be a hint. **


	10. Ego Lacedaemonicus

**Disclaimer: Almost all characters belong either to Phineas and Ferb, owned by the eminent Disney Corp., or to history itself. The author is not making any money out of this.**

**Please review. Constructive criticism always welcomed.**

1230 hrs, Twenty-fourth of April, 55 BC

Chapter 10: Ego Lacedaemonicus

Third Person POV

Phinnius winced. _This is taking a _long_ time_, he thought. The arguing had taken more than an hour, over only a single subject on the agenda. Considering that so many of the senators had already been bought, there was little actual use in all this debate at this point.

Ferbius fidgeted beside him.

"I wish I could just build something, Ferb."

The green-haired giant nodded, but kept silent.

"I wonder what Isabella and Perrixius are doing."

* * *

"This. Is. GOOD!" The raven-haired girl screamed.

The honey vendor, a strapping young man, smiled seductively at her.

"I'm glad you like it."

"Can I have another spoon?" She asked.

The vendor gave an elegant bow. "I have another one, right here, my lady." He quickly dipped the spoon into the honeypot and handed it back to her. As she began sipping, the blonde youth began to reach his hand towards her charms, before feeling a vicious hand grab his other arm and twist it behind his back.

A hoarse snarl came as a whisper at his ear. "Like a mosaic in the works, pretty boy; _don't touch_." Then the girl finished sipping and moved the spoon from her mouth, and the powerful hand released him from its grip.

Perrixius shook his head. _Kids these days_. _Any of that in the agoge would mean the wolf. _He tapped Isabella on the shoulder, and gestured if she wanted to leave.

"Thank you, sir," she smiled, "but I don't think I can afford this honey."

The honey vendor protested. "B-b-but… a special price for you, milady! Just ten sestertii!"

"No, I'm sorry."

"Eight sestertii?"

"I SAID NO!" She yelled and gave him a sharp punch in the nose.

He reeled, and came back at her in a blind fury, but her foot was already pinning down his instep, before she jabbed her elbow at his temple and poked at his eyes with the other arm. And then she stormed off, leaving the honey seller to clear his headache. Perrixius was making a strange sound, one that only he himself knew was laughter.

* * *

They stopped at a delicatessen, where they purchased cured meats and a few cheeses. Isabella nibbled the food as politely as she could, trying to act like a Celtiberian princess. Perrixius, surprisingly, had similar restraint, preventing himself from tearing into the delicious food as fast as he could, instead eating with economy of motion and endurance.

"Where's Carolus from, Perrixius? He seems a little bigger than even a Gaul."

Perrixius selected a slice of spiced sausage and popped it into his mouth. His hoarse whisper rang out a second later. "Carolus was an Oathsworn of the Arverni, one of the strongest Gallic tribes. His father, though, came from upper Germania, Suebia, I believe. An exiled berserker who married the daughter of an Arverni war chieftain. Their son, Carolus, was one of the tribe's most promising warriors, and swore oaths to the chief to defend him with his life. He was trained with the two-handed longsword and battleaxe, and learned how to fight in mail and from horseback.

"Then the chief died, and his nephew usurped the tribe. He didn't want any of his father's old warriors to survive, in case they might oust him and place in their perceived rightful chief. So he had them all killed at a feast.

"Carolus, though, was barely twenty at the time, and, like a foolish youth, had been chased up a tree by a bear on the way to the feast. His account of how he escaped the bear always changes, but after he got out of the tree, he was set upon by the new chief's warriors. He cut his way free, and rode south to be a mercenary. After a couple of years, we met, and we found our way to the House of the Flinnii-Fletchii."

"And where do you come from?"

But Perrixius was massaging his throat, gestured for some wine, gulped it down and shook his head.

"Oh, it hurts again?"

Perrixius nodded.

Isabella's guilt came back. "I'm sorry…"

Perrixius shrugged. _It'll take too long for me to explain it to her anyways._

* * *

After lunch, they entered the Pomerium. They visited the wondrous Forum, the huge Circus Maximus, and the other massive buildings in the city center. The two went to watch a chariot race in the Circus Maximus, but Isabella was disappointed by the charioteers' sacrifice of prowess in place of showmanship, and dirty and unfair actions.

Afterwards, they found themselves walking along one of the larger roads. Isabella pointed at a wooden arena, with people crowded inside. "Perrixius, what's that?"

"… It's hard to explain."

"Well… can we take a look?"

The helmeted head nodded, and both entered the building.

Inside, the crowd sat on wooden benches, all surrounding a stone ring. Inside that ring were several gladiators, hacking each other to pieces. Isabella gasped. A helmeted man knocked away another man's sword, ripped off his helmet, and grasped him in a chokehold, presenting him to the crowd. The crowd booed, and pointed their thumbs down, whereupon the disarmed man was released, and then brutally disemboweled.

Isabella held her hand to her face in horror, unconscious tears coming to her face. She had seen men die before, had seen duels in even her village, but this brutal business pleased the crowd, who roared as another man had his throat brutally slit.

"Gladiators." Perrixius whispered remorsefully.

And then it was all over, and the last remaining gladiator raised his arm towards the crowd, earning their cheers as he flamboyantly displayed tricks with the sword, before he turned back towards the cells where the other gladiators were held.

Isabella gave a final sob of horror before calming down. "What… was… that?"

"Gladiator games. Last ditch attempt for support, done by Caesar's opponents in the Senate. Julius Caesar's a relative of Phinnius and Ferbius, and their general. He's a favorite of the people, stinking rich despite his debt, and commands some of the best legions. Some don't like that, and try to regain support to counter Caesar; see, there they are, giving the closing remarks to these games."

And suddenly, a few hoarse screams rang out, and the gladiators burst back towards the ring, some of them covered in fresh blood.

Fully armed.

* * *

They hammered down the doors shutting them off from the ring, before rushing, more than twenty of them, towards the stands. Behind them, a guard, holding his intestines in, cried out, "Run! Run for your lives!"

The effect was instantaneous. All the people in the stands rushed out the door, bowling Isabella and Perrixius to the ground. Perrixius covered her body with her own, allowing his shield, strapped across the back, to absorb most of the damage.

And then the crowd was thinning, and the gladiators were climbing out of the 7-foot deep ring, and into the stands, slaughtering stragglers. Perrixius and Isabella turned and fled, but less than three paces out, a big gladiator caught her by the arm. In broken Latin, he laughed.

"Trying to run away, little birdie?"

She tried to strike him, to twist his extremities and pin them, but in an instant, she knew that was impossible. As athletic as she was, she was thin, not bulky, and fast, but not fast enough, and definitely not strong enough to handle, unarmed, this muscled and armed fighter. She stood absolutely no chance.

Suddenly, Perrixius charged in, his massive, round shield on his left arm, and slammed into the gladiator. The brutal impact hammered the pit fighter back a few yards, causing him to stagger and drop Isabella. With his free hand, Perrixius grabbed Isabella and pulled her behind him, even as more gladiators streamed toward him, thinking to make easy pickings off of him.

Perrixius snarled in a language that Isabella recognized as Greek, though she didn't understand a word of what was being said.

"_Paradídomai, monomachos. Live gia na dei mia álli iméra_."

"_Parata ta, gero_." The gladiator snarled back.

"I won't be needing this." Perrixius said in Latin. He ripped off the hide covering on his shield, exposing the symbol emblazoned on his shield. Instinctively, the gladiators backed away slightly, recognizing the ensign. As he reached over to snatch his wooden baton, Isabella saw the sign on his shield, a single Greek letter.

Λ

* * *

The first gladiator charged towards Perrixius, aiming a vicious overhead cut towards the warrior. The Spartiate caught it on his shield, then shoved it back, whilst stepping on the _thraex_'s foot and hammering the kneecap with his baton. His kneecap shattered, the _thraex_ howled in pain until the hardwood of the long stick jabbed him in the apple of his throat, dropping him soundly.

A _dimachaerus_ lunged at him, and tried to catch him with twin swords. Blocking one with his shield, Perrixius sidestepped the other sword before breaking the hand that held it with a brutal blow. Before the _dimachaerus_ could even scream, Perrixius swung his heavy shield in a murderous arc, caving in his forehead with the edge.

The next instant, a _murmillo_ swung his heavy sword at the baton and broke it, before launching a series of blows at the teal-helmeted warrior, while a _retiarius_ came behind Perrixius. The Spartiate, however, had already intercepted the blows with his broad _hoplon_, and stepped in close, too close for the _murmillo_ to swing his blade properly. Perrixius shifted his shield, knocking aside the _scutum_ that protected the _murmillo_, and then stabbed the remains of his baton through the eye of his opponent.

Before the _murmillo_'s body hit the ground, Perrixius was already moving, angling his shield so as to make the _retiarius'_ trident glance off, while pouncing upon the gladiator. With his right hand, he gripped the back of the man's neck, and brought the shield up, and hammered it down, a brutal edgewise blow on the _retiarius'_ collarbone. As the collarbone snapped and the _retiarius_ was driven to his knees, gasping, Perrixius grabbed the _retiarius_' weighted net and lobbed it at the other, surprised gladiators, entangling them and driving them back. He threw the gladiator to the ground and brutally stomped on his neck, then snatched at the trident with his free hand, pushed it against the floor, and broke off the head, leaving only a sharp, wooden spear.

He got into a hoplite's stance, and then drove the spear, in quick succession, into the throats and stomachs of the men still trapped by the net. As their corpses slumped to the ground, a _venator_ leapt at him, but Perrixius shifted his grip up the spear and struck him in the face with the butt end of the spear, before sending a barnstorming swing with his shield into the man's neck, wiping him out.

A huge _secutor_ lumbered up. Roaring, he intercepted Perrixius' feint with his _scutum, _before bringing his heavy sword down on Perrixius. The strike glanced off the shield and bounced off the Corinthian helmet, and then Perrixius growled, "_Afti einai i Sparti!_" He shoved the gladiator back, and then slammed a brutal kick into the man's torso, driving him further backward. Perrixius rammed his wooden spear into the gladiator's helmet, and was rewarded by the _secutor's _falling backwards. The spear was lodged so deep that as the man fell, it shattered midway between Perrixius' hand and where it had lodged in the pit fighter's head.

Not missing a beat, Perrixius seized the dead secutor's sword and laid about him, putting gaping wounds into two men and leaving another two in crimson puddles.

And then the gladiators backed off, leaving almost a dozen corpses on the ground in front of the Spartan. Perrixius growled, and beat his newfound sword against his shield, both taunt and threat in a single move.

Isabella looked incredulously at the Spartiate.

_He's… incredible. Better than even Phinnius. Almost as good as Ferbius._

And then, fifty men rushed past her and surrounded the gladiators and Perrixius, thirty of which looked like local town watch, and a score being legionaries. Perrixius dropped his sword and showed a ring on his finger to the legionaries, who nodded, and let him out. Behind the legionaries were the Senators who had arranged these games, trying anxiously to look over the heads of the soldiers, who disarmed the gladiators and clapped them in irons.

The helmeted warrior grinned at the sight of the politicians. "Well, there goes public favour for them."

* * *

"Perrixius and the _vigiles_ told me what happened." Phineas said that night, as they, again, gazed at the stars.

Isabella nodded. "Yes… Where did he learn to fight like that?"

Phineas cleared his throat. "Have you ever heard of the Spartans?"

Isabella shook her head.

"Well, they're warriors, from the southern highlands of Greece. They follow the ways of Lycurgus, their first king. When they're born, they're examined for strength. If a baby is deemed weak or defected, they leave it on the mountainside, where poorer families can adopt them… or the night kills them.

"From when they can walk and talk, they're trained in fitness, to be lean and strong. At seven, they enter the agoge, where they're trained to be warriors. Told to ignore pain, they fight daily, and are underfed, so that they learn to steal food. If they're caught, or found to have been made mistakes, they will be beaten, and they cannot flinch or shout. They're trained to always listen to the commander, to die rather than surrender, and not to give in to fear. They're trained to be perfect; to have perfect formations, to form perfect shield walls, to sprint, jog, and march in perfect formation, and even to sprint, full-tilt, uphill, while holding a phalanx formation, only to smash into the enemy.

"They're periodically released into the wild, where they have to fend for themselves with nothing but a cloak and a dagger. In the end, they're some of the best and toughest warriors in the world, even if they're not particularly big. Once, a small army, one or two thousand, once lead a force of ten thousand men to fight three hundred thousand invaders. They held out for days with minimal losses, and only lost when they were surrounded. Even then, 300 Spartans, led by their king, told the other soldiers to return home to their families, whereupon the 300 Spartans allowed themselves to be surrounded and slaughtered. Not before they killed another 8000 enemies, though."

Isabella's eyes grew wide. _300 killed 8000? Any army that can do that..._

"Even after they come of age, they train, brutally, for war. They've only been beaten by sheer numbers of skilled troops, better tactics, or lack of the appropriate support, or a combination of all of the above, like at Leuctra. Some of them become mercenaries, like Perrixius. He was one of the best in his youth, but became a sword for hire, and came into the service and loyalty of my father. He trained Ferbius and me how to fight in a shield wall, and how to use a one-handed sword, as well as how to keep ourselves fit."

"He's amazing." Isabella whispered.

"That he is, Isabella." Phinnius replied. "And I've also heard about a honey seller, just before noon."

"Oh, that? It was just an…"

"Accident?" Phinnius said, his tone showing exactly what he thought of that.

"Unfortunate incident."

"Well, you handed yourself quite well."

To be exact, Perrixius' words were: 'She's a keeper, kid.'

_That she is,_ a voice in his head, one that he wasn't sure was his, agreed. _That she is._

**Constructive criticism is always welcomed; any review will be gladly received. **

**And yes, '_Afti einai i Sparti!' _means, 'This is Sparta!', complete with the kick.**

**To bring up the Battle of Leuctra, the Spartans received one of their few major defeats here due to the Thebans using innovative tactics. They knew to focus as many troops as they could spare, as well as the best troops, to drive back the Spartans. This resulted in a Spartan formation 12-man deep in a pushing contest against a 50-man deep formation composed of loyal, skilled, and organised Theban hoplites (or, in basketball terms, one man trying to box out four or five at once). When the 700 Spartiates were driven back by the at least 2400 good-quality Theban hoplites and the Theban cavalry routed the Peloponnese horse, the Spartans' unreliable allies ran for their lives whilst the Thebans' own unreliable allies cheered and joined in the slaughter. About 400 Spartiates lost their lives, and the image of Spartan invincibility was broken. Still, though, even afterwards, no one messed with Sparta on the battlefield; my point being, they weren't beaten by fighting prowess, but by tactical ingenuity and bad luck of having noobs for allies. It's like being a world-class League of Legends player stuck in a team full of noobs. **

**To illustrate my point further, in the first Punic War, Carthage had lost every major battle, both on land and on the seas. Less than a hundred Spartan mercenaries were hired. They revolutionised the Carthaginian tactics and training so well, the foreign mercenaries that made up a large part of Carthage's army threatened to revolt if the Spartans weren't in command. Oh yes, and the following battle resulted in a horrific Roman defeat. **


	11. Barfight

**This one is for Jangling Bacon's brother and his new girlfriend.**

**Thank you to those who read, more thanks to those who review, and even more thanks to those who follow or favourite this story. Your support is either much appreciated, or much looked-for.**

**Disclaimer: Almost all characters are either owned by Disney's Phineas and Ferb, or are from history itself. The author's not getting cash out of this.**

* * *

Chapter 11: Barfight

1930 hrs, Twenty-ninth of April, 55 BC

"Alright, Phinnius, see you tomorrow at dawn!" Bufordus waved as he exited the tavern. Phinnius waved back.

"So, what was all that about?"

Phinnius glanced at Isabella. "Well, the legion's gonna be marching out tomorrow. We're headed for Cisalpine Gaul, then Celtica, and then Belgica. Apparently, we have some trouble with the Usipetes up north…"

Her face was blank.

The redhead sighed. "We're going north, to beat up some guys, and then we're going further north to beat up more guys."

"Aaaaaah. Makes more sense when you say it like that."

Phinnius sighed in exasperation. That made Isabella giggle, like a little girl, if only for a moment.

Phinnius blinked. _Does she… take a fancy to me? _He shook himself. _Whatever; I have to stay professional. Say it with me: 'stay professional.'_

"Stay professional." He mumbled, just before he caught himself. _Not out loud!_

"What?" Isabella asked.

The only reply that came was another sigh.

* * *

"So, Uncle, your boys going up to Germania, I hear."

Perrixius nodded beneath his helmet.

Marcus Cassius Scaeva took another gulp of sweet hippocras.

"My cohort's following their legion back to Gaul, and then we're joining back up with Legio X. Then, maybe Britannia. Who knows?"

Perrixius smiled and shrugged.

"From one Spartiate to another, even after the _agoge_, I still find the legion drills to be a pain."

Perrixius nodded and cleared his throat. "Regretting your decision?"

Scaeva raised an eyebrow. "To go to Sparta, where my father's mother and my mother's fathers were born and raised? No. To go through the _agoge_? Not my choice, and no. To join the legion? Still no."

"Good to see you're certain."

"Not as certain as he is about that girl." He gestured towards the corner where Phinnius and Isabella sat, clad in a more modest garb than conventional for their station.

"Care to clarify?" Perrixius mumbled, a grin crossing his face.

"I don't think I need to."

* * *

"Phinnius Julius Flinnius-Fletchius. What an excellent surprise."

Phinnius looked up. His gaze hardened.

"Thaddeus Cornelius Bridrius. Thor."

Thaddeus showed a cruel grin, which showed itself on his massive bastard brother's face.

"So, you and your legion ran away from the action, huh? Back to Rome?"

Phinnius glared at him. "It's called a bloody transfer of generals. So, what's this about your uncle's gladiator games going spectacularly wrong? Was it a Cornelia servant to solve the problem? Or was he of _gens_ Julia?"

Thaddeus' face turned to one of hatred. "And who's this slut?" He said in Greek.

"Talk in Latin, Thaddeus."

The curly-haired man gave a phoney bow and reverted to Latin. "Why, Phinnius. You didn't introduce us."

"Isabella, this is Thaddeus Cornelius Bridrius. And his Germanic bastard brother, Thor. Thaddeus and Thor, this is-"

"A whore."

Phinnius clenched his teeth. "Don't call her that."

"Why not?" Thaddeus whistled, and a dozen big men filed into the tavern and flanked the two brothers.

Thor smiled and cracked his knuckles. The huge German was almost as big as Ferbius, and possessed an inordinate amount of strength.

Phinnius took a deep breath. "By order of Titus Labienus, acting general for Gaius Julius Caesar, I am to protect this girl with my life."

"Oh, it's alright. I can take over tonight. Do a little 'protecting' of my own. And I think these guards can help, too."

Phinnius flew at him, fists flying.

* * *

Thaddeus was strong and fast, but Phinnius had been trained by Perrixius every day, and he was certainly faster. Thaddeus only got in a single good blow before Phinnius had knocked him onto the ground and begun pummelling him. Two Cornelia men grabbed his arms and pulled him off Thaddeus, but Phinnius slipped one arm out of the lock and swung a barnstorming blow at one before grabbing the other in a wrestling hold and flooring him.

Isabella felt an arm grab hers, and countered by twisting the arm and pulling it toward her. When the man came into range, her slim arm shot forward and struck him in the temple, stunning him. She ducked a few punches from another before elbowing him in the stomach and kneeing him in the crotch, and finished by tripping him.

But then, she felt two, maybe three men grab her from behind. Thor slammed two fists into Phinnius' stomach, even as the latter knocked another man unconscious, and the massive German grabbed him in a headlock.

Thaddeus got back onto his feet amid the dead silence in the tavern.

"Well, Phinnius, nice show. I'd love to give you one of my own, but…" He caressed Isabella's face with his hand, a chilling touch that she tried to shrink away from.

"MOLOOOOONN LABE!"

Two men, wearing crested Corinthian helmets, charged into the mass of a dozen men, both carrying huge _aspis_ shields and charging shield first. The impact of their charge was so forceful, five men were floored, despite them having braced themselves.

Perrixius grabbed a man by the hair, pulled his head down, and hammered the man's face with a vicious knee. He followed up with a straight-legged kick to the man's belly, and then swept his legs out from under him.

Scaeva, meanwhile, hammered his fist into a man's face, grabbed his knee and twisted it inwards, and throwing him to the ground, breaking his leg.

Both then punched forward in unison, driving their fists into the men holding Isabella. They followed up by shield-bashing, and then tripping the two men.

Isabella backed away and watched in amazed silence as Scaeva and Perrixius, back to back, began to plow their way through the Cornelia men, punching, kicking, and grappling. Where one aimed low, the other aimed high, knocking out teeth, kicking shins, and grappling men to the ground.

And then, they were done, and they slowly advanced towards Thaddeus and Thor.

"Come on, Thor! We've got another twenty men outside! We can-"

He was cut short by the sound of a brutal punch, and Thor slumping to the ground, unconscious.

"You _had_ twenty men outside." Bufordus said, cracking his knuckles. Ferbius nodded, flexing the hands he had just knocked a dozen men unconscious with, one of which was Thor.

Bufordus gestured to Thaddeus. "Get back to your barracks, your cohort's coming with Legio XIII tomorrow, en route to meeting the 10th. The vigiles will clean this mess up." He turned to Phinnius and Isabella. "You alright? We came back when we heard yells."

"Yeah, we're fine. Thanks for coming."

"No problem, Pyramid-head. No problem."

* * *

The next morning, Perrixius stood alone on the hill, watching Legio XIII march off into the distance.

_Bye, boys. I'll be waiting for you._

And then, he heard hoofbeats, and then a white mare galloped into view, heading in the same direction as the Legion. He smiled as he saw the fair skin and long black hair of the rider, thinking of Scaeva's observation from the night before.

_Of course, there's another one who can't wait for you at all. Good luck trying to get her to leave you. _

He gave one last smile, and turned away, trudging back down the hill.

* * *

**Marcus Cassius Scaeva is a historical person, by the way. And a complete avatar of awesome.**


	12. All Roads Lead To Rome

**Disclaimer: Almost all characters belong to either history or to Disney Corp's Phineas and Ferb. The author isn't making any cash out of this.**

**Please review. I received no reviews from the previous chapter and thus, have no idea what to make of it. Reviews can help improve the story, folks.**

Chapter 12: All Roads Lead To Rome

0600 hrs, Thirtieth of April, 55 BC

"Alright, Father. Till we meet again."

Phinnius embraced his stepfather, and was followed by Ferbius.

"Well then, Ferb, let's go."

Perrixius and Carolus flanked them as they walked out of the door and climbed onto their expertly crafted Celtic, four-pommeled saddles.

Carolus rumbled in his deep voice. "Glad I could spar with you boys again. Ride well."

Perrixius nodded and smiled. "Come back with your shield…"

Both Phinnius and Ferbius echoed, "Or come back on it."

Both teachers waved goodbye as the two hitched up their warhorses and packhorses to their riding mounts, and trotted out of the gate. As one, the men on the walls clicked their heels and saluted with their swords, an imposing sight on the predawn gloom.

As the sun broke over the hills, Phinnius found himself asking Ferbius, "Do you think Isabella will try to follow us? You know that she knows she shouldn't."

The green-haired giant gave him a glance. "You really think we can outride her?"

* * *

"You still asleep?"

Isabella woke with a start.

"Guess not." The figure leaning against her balcony wore a black cloak, with tight trousers and a tunic of the same dark color. Underneath the cowl, though, the form of both body and face was feminine, and the voice was unmistakably female.

"Candacia?"

"No, a Gorgon. Of course it's me!"

Over the past week, Isabella had felt strangely comfortable around the tall, redheaded young woman. There was a sense of regality and stateliness about her.

This time, though, she had shed that regality for a brasher aura.

"Um… is that chainmail?"

Candacia smiled. "Like it, huh? Yeah, comes in black, as you can see. Oh, when I was young, adventuring around with Phinnius and Ferbius… Designed to be lighter and quieter than legionary mail, or _lorica hamata_, at the cost of protection. Nowadays the crack troops _get lorica segmentata_ as their main armor, but that's none of your business."

Isabella sat up in bed. "So… what are you doing here?"

"Oh, just enjoying the view." The redheaded woman sighed and cast a glance at the beautiful view of Rome. "I grew up here, you know. Father's house and all." She wheeled back around and marched to Isabella's bed.

"Alright! Get out of bed!" She pulled Isabella's blanket off of her, despite the Celtiberian girl's complaints.

"What?!" Isabella whined.

"Do you want to see Phinnius and Ferbius again?"

_Phinnius_.

Suddenly, memories of Phinnius began popping through Isabella's head. His laugh, his muscles, his smile, his eyes…

"Okay, judging from that dreamy look on your face, HURRY UP! GET YOUR CLOTHES ON!"

Isabella raised an eyebrow. "Wait, why?"

Candacia sighed. "They marched out the door about five minutes ago, and they're riding towards the legion barracks, then marching off to the great unknown."

"They're… leaving?"

"Obviously. So go, go, go!"

Isabella quickly donned her clothing. When she emerged from behind her changing screen, Candacia was standing there holding a few more items.

"I know you like those sandals of yours, but if you run into rockier terrain, you'll want these." The redheaded woman patted a set of sturdy boots. _Oh, back in the day… _"Phinnius and Ferbius have their own, too, but much bigger than yours."

"H-how do you know these would fit me?" Isabella asked.

"They used to be mine, and, well, our feet are close enough in size. At any rate, you'll be going through some dicey situations. You're a good rider, hmm?"

Isabella nodded. "I'm Iberian."

"Yeah, I guessed. This is a _makhaira_. If you think it looks like _falcata_, you're right, they're almost exactly the same. But this one is made from Noric steel and is fresh from the forge." She handed her the sword.

"Here's some fresh sets of clothing. Oh, yes, and there's this." Candacia reached in and pulled out a shirt of black mail, identical to her own.

"Made with special techniques from Sera Major. The Han Empire, if I remember correctly. Great technology, better than even Rome's in a lot of fields, except for war. We have a friend there, name's Meap. Or at least we call him that; his real name's much longer. At any rate, here's one for you. Consider it a parting gift."

Isabella took the black mailshirt. _It's so light_, she thought.

"Why are you doing this?" Isabella asked.

Candacia looked her in the eye. "Do you want to see Phinnius or not?"

"Well, I…"

"'Cause he wants to see _you_."

"HE WANTS TO SEE ME?!" Isabella screamed happily.

"I mean, yeah, because, um, he doesn't get to see girls a lot, and he might like some female companions, and… I'm overexplaining this. Let's go!"

"Um… wouldn't they object to me coming along with them?" She asked as she put the mailshirt in the leather pack and headed for the door.

"Oh, of course they will, but neither of them will actually care." _Phinnius might actually be a lot happier_, Candacia thought. "The officers will bluster, but they won't really care, either. Just keep your chin up, your horse trotting, and if any men give you trouble, shank them."

_Gods_, Isabella thought, _is she always this talkative?_

The redheaded woman led Isabella to Pinkicis. The filly, saddled and bridled, whinnied happily at the sight of her rider.

Candacia continued talking. "That's a Gallic four-pommeled saddle. I know you can ride bareback, but this will help you much better than your first saddle. Phinnius and Ferbius have their own for stallions, but your mare has a much smaller one. Good luck."

Isabella mounted and Candacia led the horse out of the stables.

"Ave, Verus. Could you open up for us?"

"Aye, Madam." The big man opened the bolt on the gate and stood aside as Candacia led Pinkicis, Isabella on the horse's back, out of the gate.

"All right, good luck!" Candacia called.

_All right, girl,_ Isabella thought, as if Pinkicis could hear her thoughts. _We've got a way to go before we catch up to them. _

"Hrr-ragh!" She called, and Pinkicis reared and whinnied, before galloping down towards the legion barracks.

* * *

"Aaaaaaaand… march!"

The Thirteenth Legion, bolstered by a cohort from the Tenth, began marching out of the outskirts of the city.

"So, Phinnius, where's Isabella?" Baljitius called.

Phinnius sighed. "We had to leave her behind."

"Awww, shame." Irvinius lamented.

Bufordus punched Irvinius' shoulder. "She don't even like you, runt!"

"I can dream, too, _optio_!" The short legionary whined.

"IT'S OPTIO STOMMIUS!" the burly officer roared. "And there was another guy, like you. All dreamy and stuff. His name was Paris. Hit on the most beautiful girl in the world, stole her away from her husband, and for ten years, we had ship-to-ship combat!"

Phinnius broke in. "Buford, the Trojan War was a protracted land battle."

"Not _that_ kind of ship! The relation_ship_ ship! At any rate, it ended _HORRIBLY_!"

"Um, what are we talking about?" Phinnius asked.

"Nothin'."

Phinnius shrugged and rode further up the column.

"Jeremius, do you ever miss Candacia when you're out on campaign?"

The blond officer smiled. "Of course. Your sister's great; I miss her every minute I'm out here."

"And, er, how do you deal with it?"

Jeremius pulled out a heart-shaped locket and flipped it open. Inside was a well-made family portrait of Jeremius, sitting next to Candacia and Amandia.

"Little keepsakes like this." The Greco-Roman said wistfully.

"Okay, so what do you suggest I do?" Phinnius asked carefully.

Jeremius chuckled. "You and your Celtiberian princess?"

"I-I, I never said anything about _her_." Phinnius spat out as quickly as possible.

"We all know you have eyes on her. She certainly does for you."

"She _does_?" Phinnius' eyes widened.

Jeremius shrugged. "What do you think?"

"I don't know."

A voice spoke up in his mind. _Want a miracle, kid?_

_Um, yeah, sure. _Phinnius thought. _Whatever_.

_Do you want one?_

Phinnius sighed. _Yes, _he thought_. Don't even know why I'm speaking to a voice in my head-_

"Tribune Flinnius!" A legionary cavalryman rode up. "There's a visitor to see you. Calls herself Isabella, of the Garciates."

"W-What?"

"Yes, sir, it is your Iberian princess. Word travels fast around the legion."

_What?! What's she doing here?_ He thought.

When he poked his head out, though, he did see her coming.

At that point the strange voice in his mind said, _Ask, and ye shall receive, kid._

_What?_ Phinnius thought.

There was no reply.

* * *

"Phinnius!" Isabella cried happily. She galloped toward him, another cavalryman hard on her heels.

"Wait! No, stop!" The soldier cried, but his horse was already lagging behind.

"It's alright, equestrian." Phinnius called. "Return to your duties."

Labienus raised an eyebrow. "I'd thought you left her in Rome, Tribune."

"He did, yes," Isabella cut in. "And I've caught up."

A chuckle came from the front of the group as a man slowed his horse down for a moment before making it walk again, this time beside them."Cease fire, Labienus. It seems she has the range on you."

The man who had spoken was not particularly large or muscular. He was neither handsome nor ugly; middle-aged, with whitening hair and a lean frame. Nevertheless, there was a sense of power around the man, the same sort of power that was emitted when the name 'Rome' was spoken.

"Well, if it isn't Phinnius Julius Flinnius-Fletchius. Flinnius, do you care to introduce?"

"General, this is Isabella, Princess of the Celtiberian Garciates, and newly made Roman citizen. Isabella," he gestured to the man, "this is Gaius Julius Caesar, one of the Triumvirate, and Gaul's governor."

The man inclined his head to Isabella. "Milady. Flinnius, how exactly did you get her Roman citizenship that quickly?"

"Money, sir."

"Where from?" Caesar asked.

"Cato. Metellus. Some others. Thy had to pay my family after one of our men helped them with a problem of theirs." Phinnius scratched his head.

"By problem, do you mean gladiators?"

"Well, yes..."

Caesar smirked. "The Gaul or the Greek?"

"The Spartiate, sir."

"Very well." Caesar turned his gaze beyond Phinnius. "Stay as long as you like, Isabella of the Garciates. But do not disrupt the order of my soldiers, or their discipline, or else."

"It's not like you can just send me back to Rome." Isabella snarked.

Caesar lightly egged his horse back forward."You'd be surprised, miss. I have more than 6000 troops at my disposal, to order as I please, even to escort back a Roman citizen. And you can just follow the roads. All roads lead to Rome."

* * *

Phinnius galloped back to his cohort, Isabella behind him.

"Why did you come?!" Phinnius hissed.

"Because I wanted to!" Isabella whined.

"We're going up north, where I can fully _not_ guarantee your safety!" Phinnius yelled, starkly out-of-character.

"Grammar!" Baljitius called, but neither listened.

"Why don't you think I can keep myself safe?!" Isabella yelled back.

"I do think you can protect yourself, but I don't want to take the risk!" Phinnius shouted, exasperated.

"And why not?!" Isabella asked, small tears coming to her face at the shock of it all.

"I don't want anything bad to ever happen to you!" Phinnius roared.

Phinnius' friends and even his brother kept their silence, as did the entire cohort, except for the tramping of their boots.

Isabella's face was one of shock, and before she knew it, fat tears were streaming down her face.

Phinnius felt a deep sense of guilt well up in him at the sight of those tears, and his own eyes moistened.

"Ferb..." he whispered as his brother drew close. The giant trotted over from the Praetorian cohort. Nodding once, he whipped out a gladius and gestured to Phinnius' own cohort to follow him.

Phinnius and Isabella edged off the road, neither speaking for a while. They broke into a trot, and continued until they were riding off to the side of the legion, more than a mile off the road, but heading in the same direction.

"I... I think you are a most beautiful girl, Isabella. You are sweet and kind and charming, and I don't ever want to see you get hurt." Phinnius' voice broke. "I'm... I'm sorry for shouting at you. I just want to know why you came."

Isabella took in a deep breath. "I... I..." she said, struggling to speak through her sobs. "I don't want you to go, Phinnius. You and Ferbius looked after me, took care of me, taught me. You guys and Baljitius, Bufordus, and Irvinius, you guys all are great people, and you all might die, just like my family. And I don't want that to happen! I want to be here, where I can help you, and not powerless, back in Rome. Y-you guys are my new family now! And if any of you die, I want to be there, to say goodbye. Phinnius," she finished. "I think I'm in love with you."

Both were stunned by this statement; though in hindsight, neither was that surprised.

"Well, Isabella," Phinnius gave a small smile beneath his tears. "I think I'm in love with you, too."

She returned the smile, and eventually both were grinning from ear to ear. They wiped their tears and suddenly, they embraced, a tight hug that might have lasted minutes or hours, but without a kiss.

"Isabella," Phinnius said. "It'll be best if we keep it slow. We could still know more about each other, and it'll be a while before my mandatory service ends and I can marry. And let's not make commitments if we might die suddenly."

Isabella giggled, and Phinnius blushed.

"If you'll wait, of course. A-and... are you still-"

Isabella smiled again, but this time there was steel in her eyes. "If that's what you want, I will save my maidenhead for our wedding night, Phinnius. As long as it takes."

* * *

The sun blazed above their heads, reaching its apex. It's heat, however, was nullified by a gust of cool air. Bufordus tore at a hunk of bread and Ferbius munched at a large piece of roast beef and a head of romaine lettuce. They looked at the two riders, side by side, a few meters away from them.

Phinnius and Isabella were chatting away about something or other, Ferbius knew. Ever since the day they had left Rome, after they had galloped back to the column a few weeks before, they had gotten even closer, sharing private jokes and stories. At night, both shared a tent, though there were no sounds from it other than innocent spumber.

"Romance is so nice, warm, and fuzzy, huh, Chief?" Bufordus commented.

"We'll need that warmth soon, Bufordus. We're not exactly going into civilization, next." Ferbius set his jaw grimly. "We're going north; straight into the wild."

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	13. Rochambeau

**Disclaimer: Almost all characters either belong to history or Disney Corp's Phineas and Ferb. The author is not making any money out of this.**

**Please review. Thank you to those who have shown their support.**

Chapter 13: Rochambeau

1330 hrs, June 15th, 55 BC

_I am from Alalia,  
__Was born in Massalia  
__And lived with a  
__Lanista there.  
__And the people I meet  
__That I see on the street  
__Say, 'Ave'. And I say 'Ave'.  
__And they ask, 'Where are you from?'  
__And I say:_

_I am from Alalia,  
__Was born in Massalia  
__And lived with a  
__Lanista there.  
__And the people I meet  
__That I see on the street  
__Say, 'Ave'. And I say 'Ave'.  
__And they ask, 'Where are you from?'  
__And I say:_

_I am from Alalia,  
__Was born in Massalia…_

"Gr…" Isabella growled.

"Cummon, Ma'am, it's a classic," Buford called. "Join in!"

Isabella pouted. "I joined in the first three dozen times, stopped two hours ago, and it's still going on!"

Irvinius scratched the back of his head. "At least you have a choice. We're stuck marching until evening."

Isabella felt a tiny pang of guilt… but she still hated the song.

"And for once, I don't have someone on my side…" She sighed wistfully, seeing Phinnius and Ferbius roaring out the lyrics with the rest of their two cohorts.

She tapped Phinnius' shoulder. "I'm going to the baggage train."

Phinnius nodded without really listening, but Isabella left all the same. Despite being able to leave the dreadful noise behind, she would still have felt better with Phinnius or one of his friends at her side. She patted the _makhaira_ at her side for reassurance.

After several minutes of hard riding, she finally reached the end of the column of marching soldiers, and entered the rabble of people and wagons that was the baggage train. There were still legionaries, but in a much lower concentration than in the main marching column. Instead, there was a multitude of mercenaries, hundreds of them. Some lounging on the wagons, some marching, weapons slung on their backs or at their sides, and still others who clutched their arms in their hands, wary to this strange environment.

She, too, found it strange; the climate was much cooler, and with much more grass and trees than she was used to seeing in the wilderness. She had never known that there could be this much vegetation other than farmland in the direct influence of a city. Dismounting, she stood there, on the side of the road, for a moment; silently drinking in the silent majesty of the green forest to her right.

* * *

Isabella was shaken out of her reverie by the sound of a knife against leather. In a single fluid move, she whirled and caught the arm holding the knife before twisting it, making the thief let go of the blade. The cutpurse, a good deal smaller than her, squirmed inside Isabella's grip.

"Let me go! Let me go!" She said as she struggled to pull her hand free.

Isabella, as stunned as she was by the cutpurse's gender, did not release her. Speaking in her now very fluent Latin, she spoke gently, like when she was calming a horse. "Calm down! Calm down! I'm not going to hurt you."

"Let _go_..." the girl whined.

"I will if you just calm down." Isabella said. She tried to give a comforting smile, and to ignore the camp following and baggage train passing them.

The little girl eventually did calm down, allowing Isabella to get a look at her. She was small, only in the very early stages of puberty; perhaps eleven or twelve. She had short, dirty hair the color of straw, and was liberally coated with dirt. She was skinny, but rather than Isabella's thin, lithe frame, her build was awkward and even a little malnourished. She was clad in a light peasant shirt with loose, dirty fabric, the shirt being long enough to act as a short dress, which ended halfway down her thighs, and she had no shoes, her bare feet dusty from the road.

Keeping her promise, Isabella loosened her grip. "What's your na-"

Before she could finish the question, the girl took off like an arrow from a bow.

Isabella sighed and went back to where Pinkicis was grazing.

* * *

As she remounted the horse, she was noting how stable the seat was with the new saddle when she heard the sounds of a scuffle. The little girl was running back up the column, coming closer to where Isabella was, when a hand grabbed her and lifted her up.

A big youth, backed by a few young toughs about Isabella's age, lifted the girl up by the collar, dragged her off the road, and pushed her back against a tree trunk.

"Where's that purse full of gold you told me you could get, huh?" He roared in her face. Isabella unconsciously patted the leather sack of gift money that the little girl had tried to steal.

"I can still..." She struggled feebly to break out of his hold.

The youth growled in her face. "You still owe us enough for food for us to feast for a month! Ten solid gold pieces, you know!"

The little girl began to cry. "I just needed a little more for Hermann and Dana! They were both sick-"

"And they're both dead now! Before that, it was your mother! You want me to go down there and ask them for money? If you were smart, you would've just got food for _yourself_ instead of _them_! Now pay up!"

"I couldn't get the money, all right? I'll pay you back soon! Just one more chance..." The girl whined piteously.

"No more chances! I saw it on your bedroll last week! Your first moonblood!"

The surrounding youths nodded and laughed.

Their leader let go of the girl, leaving her to huddle into a fetal position, cowering in terror.

"Cummon, boys; let's see what's under that-"

"YAAAAAAAAAAAGH! Get away from her, cretins!" Isabella screamed as she, unable to take it anymore, drove her filly straight at the ruffians, before vaulting off her horse, somersaulting, and landing feetfirst in their midst.

Then she fluttered her eyes, gave the cutest smile she possibly could, posed as prettily as possible, and, in as sweet a voice as she could, asked, "Watcha' Doin'?"

It worked like a charm. Their eyes widened, one grew dizzy, and all hesitated, suffering various degrees of confusion. That brief moment of hesitation was enough for Isabella to rush among them and start pummeling them, screaming the predetermined answer to her question: "You're gonna be LOOOOOSIIIINGG!"

A crowd gathered to watch the scene, leaving the baggage train and camp following for a moment to spectate. A good deal of laughing and even betting took place as the extortion of the little girl turned into an all-out melee.

Isabella wanted to open with a slug to the jaw of the leader, but she knew his jaw was a good deal stronger than her hand bones. So, she grabbed his hair and launched an elbow strike to the side of his head. What she lacked in brute strength, she made up for in speed and form, dizzying the ruffian further. She followed this up by a brutal knee to the groin, and then another kick to the belly of the bent-over youth, before head-butting him in the nose, keeling him over.

Another youth threw a punch, but it missed and caught a third in the chest. Isabella followed up with a few sharp jabs to the belly before tripping him. The third man, catching his breath, felt a sharp stab of pain in his leg as the little cutpurse kicked his shin. As he whirled and lunged at the little girl, Isabella caught him by the shoulders and jerked him suddenly backwards. He lost his balance and fell on his back, whereupon Isabella landed, knees first, on his stomach. The last two backed away from Isabella, straight into the arms of the baggage train's supervising centurion and his legionaries.

* * *

A legionary stopped Isabella, but she flashed the signet ring Candacia had left in the bag, one with the mark of the Julii on it, and she was released instantaneously. As Isabella turned to mount Pinkicis and leave, she saw the little girl struggle towards her, but held still by the legionary. "Help! Help!" She cried, calling out to Isabella.

Isabella moved to the legionary. "She's with me," she said, flashing her new Julii ring. The soldier nodded, letting the little girl through. The little girl ran straight to Isabella and hugged her around the waist. She felt the bottom of her blouse moisten as the little girl's tears soaked into it. After a while, Isabella gently pulled her off and crouched down to her eye level. "What's your name, little one?"

The girl sniffed. "A-Astrid."

"Astrid?" Isabella smiled. "That's a beautiful name." She pointed to herself. "I'm Isabella."

"Will you be my mama? My first one, sh-she..."

Isabella thought of her father, his hearty laugh, his strong arms that would pick her up and throw her into the air when she was small, only to catch her when she came down; a few tears of her own streamed down her face.

"I know, Astrid. I heard."

"And Hermann and Dana, they..."

"Your brother and sister?" Isabella asked.

Astrid nodded. "Twins. When they were born, the tribe said that one baby needed to be given to the fire. Mama didn't want to choose, so she took them and me and came south to be camp followers. But then they died, after Mama fell sick and died, too."

Astrid looked up into her eyes. "Isabella? Will you be my mama?"

Isabella smiled. "Yes, Astrid." She embraced her once more, silently swearing to make what was left of this girl's childhood as fantastic as possible.

* * *

"So why'd you do it?" Phinnius asked.

"Do what?" Isabella asked back. Both sat on a log next to each other, watching the sparks of the fire rise up to the night sky. The night was still young, with a third aurochs now roasting on the fire that Phinnius' cohort was seated around on rocks and logs. A few others joined the throng, celebrating the fruits of their quick hunt. Among them were the senior officers, Ferb's century of elite Praetorian Guards, and Marcus Cassius Scaeva, a family friend of the Flinnii-Fletchii.

"Why'd you take the girl in?" Phinnius asked.

Isabella smiled as Astrid, scrubbed clean, clothed, and stuffed with beef and bread, slept like a log, head on Isabella's lap.

"Did you see something like you in her? Did you just feel like being nice?" Pginnius asked.

Isabella smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Yes to both, but most of all... I did what you would have done. Don't deny it, Phinnius."

The redheaded soldier shrugged. "Fine, I won't. But how did you know I would have-"

"Because Perrixius would have done it, too: help others, even when it's 'not my problem'."

Phinnius nodded. "A dangerous phrase. To quote Carolus, 'At the end of the day, it may not be our problem, but as soldiers it is our responsibility. Only when you are ready to help the little people with their problems that you can truly solve your own massive problems.'"

Isabella's eyes widened. "I didn't think Carolus could be so eloquent..."

Phinnius burst out laughing. "He was trying to get out of leading the training runs in the mornings by convincing me and Ferbius that it was our 'solemn duty'."

As Isabella laughed, Phinnius smiled and put his arm around her shoulder. "In short, ignoring his deceiving ways, he and Perrixius mean this: whether or not it's easy; whether or not there's many at your side or a few; whether it's comfortable or not; whether it's your fault or not; whatever happens, do what's right."

**Thank you for reading. Please review; it can improve the story. Constructive criticism recommended. **


	14. Fear Not

**Well, first, I would like to point out that all the chapters now have dates attached! Thus, you can use them to reference the exact timings and seasons.**

**Second, I'm quite happy to have been advanced in the competition by Phinbella16 for my oneshot 'Depths'.**

**Third, thank you to all who have shown their support of me.**

**Disclaimer: Almost all characters, save Astrid, are from history or are derived off those on the show. The author isn't making any money off of this.**

**This will be a short chapter… but it will be worth it.**

Chapter 14: Fear not

0059 hrs, July 28th, 55 BC

Third Person POV

Ferbius took another sip of the imported Arabic drink that could keep men awake for hours on end. Sighing, he cracked his knuckles and waited for the bell. And then it sounded, and he and his fellow Praetorians retired back to their tents as the new guard appeared and surrounded the tents of the praetors and generals.

As he crept toward his tent, he passed by Phinnius' own tent, and stopped outside.

He peeked inside, and saw Phinnius curled up on the ground, bedroll just inside the tent, and his hand curled around his sword. Not a yard away, Isabella slept, wearing nought but a sheer shift, but covered by a large, thick blanket. On the portable, foldable bed, the little girl, Astrid slept, also covered by a woolen blanket.

He looked at Phinnius' face, the way he was ready to wake and defend the other two occupants from any intruder. Dutiful, considerate, and… well, idealistic. And the skills to match. Ferbius flashed a grin.

Isabella looked comfortable under the warm blanket, and she had undoubtedly lived a more comfortable life than many others, even many Romans. But beneath that demure facade, she was brave, fierce, and determined._ Not bad, brother, _he thought._ Not bad. _

The last person, the girl, Astrid, looked troubled. She tossed and turned in her sleep, groaning and murmuring. The way she tossed, her restlessness, the patterns in murmurings and groanings, rang a bell in Ferb's memory. It was one of a child, of which there were many that Ferbius had seen on the streets, who had had an abusive father, a harsh life, and had been exploited, young as she was, by those who didn't care a fig about right or wrong.

He took off his purple Praetorian cloak. _I've got a spare in my tent,_ he reassured himself. He put the cloak on the child, kissed her on the cheek, and whispered, "Fear not, child. Fear not."

Almost immediately, she calmed, and began to settle down. And a tiny smile appeared on the little girl's face, revealed in the sliver of light that filtered through the tent for a few moments, before a massive figure exited the tent and closed the flap, shrouding the tent in darkness once more.

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	15. Veritas

**Disclaimer: Almost all characters either belong to history or Disney Corp's Phineas and Ferb. The author is not making any money out of this.**

**Please review. Thank you to those who have shown their support.**

Chapter 15: Veritas

0330 hrs, July 29th, 55 BC

Isabella POV

I woke up, taking a few moments to remember where I was.

_I'm in Phinnius' tent, _I then remembered.

I exited the tent, sat on a rock, and sighed. I wouldn't have told anyone, but inside, I was divided. On one hand, there was the fact that Phinnius had destroyed my family and my home.

Well, not exactly _him_… but the _Romans_, and he was one of them… and _proud_ of it.

On the other hand, the Romans had brought order to what they conquered. The tribes inside this territory seemed peaceful, without any hostilities towards the Romans or each other so far. And honestly, Rome itself was wondrous to behold.

And Phinnius, he was kind and strong, and even a little sweet from time to time… and his brother…

I tried my best to think well of the green-haired giant. 'He was only doing his duty,' I told myself. 'His acceptance allowed my tribe to survive.' And yet, I still felt a sense of hatred for him… and yet, also a sense of respect, of friendship, and I had to admit, he was fairly likable. And yet I disliked him.

_And what does that say about me?_ I thought.

There were many things I said to Phinnius that I believed in. I did think his family was excellent. I did respect his friends, and I found myself liking his two teachers, the Spartiate and the Gaul. That night, when he and Ferbius had saved me from the barbarian mercenaries, I honestly had meant that I forgave them at the time, without actually thinking about it. Yet, I thought of what my father would think of me, and all I could think of was disapproval.

And I… I felt horrible as I realized this, but… I was in love with him. That I couldn't, I wouldn't deny. He was, in my mind, the ideal man that I had always looked for. My father had tried finding a match with great warriors, with wise men, and men with great lands and armies… and none of them appealed. But Phinnius… he had capability, dependability. He did what he knew was right, and was loyal through and through. And he also had a sense of both innocence and trust.

It would hurt, then, for him to realise that, perhaps, I didn't love him as much as I said I did.

* * *

Phinnius POV

I lay, eyes closed, as I heard her leave the tent. It wasn't time to wake up yet, and yet I was awake. It was another morning like this when they had come with the threat.

It had been warmer, truly, as they had been in the hot Iberian climate, but with in the darkness, it had been cool enough. Not as cold, though, as the blade as they held it to my throat.

"I don't trust that wench of yours," Labienus had whispered. "Last night, you and your brother slaughtered half a score of Thracian mercenaries. _Our_ mercenaries. Their entire company just left the encampment, and gods know where they're going!

"Now, the wench is still drugged, and won't wake up for a few hours. If you seem so protective of her, then do this: seduce her. Convince her that you love her. Make sure she doesn't step out of line. And remember… if any of you step out of line… both you and her will find yourself with your throat cut in your sleep, and her hands being nailed to a cross on the Appian Way."

And so, I, ever dutiful, had tried my best to get her to open up. It had taken time, but eventually, she had been convinced into believing I had feelings for her. And to my horror, I began to realize I actually might.

In Rome, I had assigned Perrixius to her, with orders to show her Rome in its entire splendor, and if he could, to give her information about them, so as to display trust. And in those days, without her constant company, I had felt inexplicably empty.

I tried not to get too attached to her, but yet… she was beautiful, smart, and kind… not to mention, decent, at least for a woman, in a fight.

Even after the incident with the Thracians, she had still been silent and cold, although she had said that she had forgiven Ferb and I, and had even sounded like she meant it.

When she had opened up, she was much friendlier to us, and yet, I got this slight feeling as if something was wrong, that she was too friendly, too forgiving, especially since we had just destroyed her home. I had gone ahead and said that I loved her, and had even tricked the rest of the entire Legion that I had feelings for her, and yet, I still had doubts.

_What if she gets us into serious trouble?_ I thought. _Or worse, what if she turns on us?_

And I found myself wondering why I asked, because I knew the answer: the _gladius_ in my hand. Into her heart.

* * *

Isabella POV

I was unwrapping the bundle when I heard a rustle. I looked up, and there he was.

"Father?" I whispered, incredulously.

His gruff voice whispered back. "You've betrayed us, Isabella."

"Y-you're dead!" I shook my head, unbelieving in what I was seeing.

"Am I?" He barked with laughter.

"Sssshhh!" I went, trying to stop him from waking the entire camp up.

"Daughter, every moment you spend in the tent of that Roman is a moment spent betraying us."

I felt all my inner conflict come to the fore. "But… we haven't done anything, yet…"

"Even if you don't warm his bed at night, you meet his family. You go to his city. You talk with his friends. Have you forgotten who you are so quickly?!" He snarled.

"No! No, I haven't!" I retorted.

"Well, then, Isabella. You know what to do." He patted the bundle in my hands.

"You have a choice now, Isabella. You can go to the general's tent, go and kill the man who ordered our destruction and my death. Or you can stay here, keep on living this life, and betray everything I stood for."

"B-But…" I stammered. "I love Phinnius…"

"Do you love a _Roman_ more than your own _family_, your own _tribe_? Don't you remember those months ago, when I warned you, and all the other chiefs about the Romans? Tell me, Isabella… will you love the ones who destroyed us, my murderers? Or will you love your own father?"

"I-I, I don't…" I stuttered, indecisive.

He looked at me in the eyes. "Decide. Now."

I took a deep breath. "You."

My father smiled. "Then you know what to do." He patted the bundle I had in my hands.

I looked down at the bundle, and then up again, but he was not there.

_I must have imagined it_, I realized.

But I knew what I had to do, as I finished unwrapping the bundle, and pulled out the razor-sharp, curved sword.

Time to avenge my father.

**Please review.**

**As to Guy-At-KFC, I got your message. Frankly, I don't actually mean for the story to lean too far either way. I did, and still do, plan on both hiding their true thoughts from each other, both learning about each other lying (very well) too each other and everyone else, and eventual reconciliation that'll lead to true romance later. Also, notice how whenever there are previous statements that this chapter calls into question, whichever one is saying something they don't necessarily mean doesn't have any thoughts revealed. By the way, it would really help if you used your actual account to talk to me, as I can then respond with a lot more detail, and also converse and ask you for more advice. Another thing is, while I am thankful for your review, I'm not sure if it was aiming more at helping improve the story. Could you, in the future, review not only about things that went wrong, but ways I can improve? This time, it was a more of a technicality and miscommunication in how I wrote the story as well as how I picked the genre, but in the future, I would like to have advice on how to correct mistakes. Thanks, and I will change the genre to General, since this doesn't really fit any genres fully. Thanks for the review.**


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